


sit down, you're rockin' the boat

by extremegraphicviolins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance is a theatre geek, M/M, Musical Theatre AU, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Swearing, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-12 22:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremegraphicviolins/pseuds/extremegraphicviolins
Summary: "Uh, hi, I'm Lance, and—"He was interrupted by the theatre door squeaking open and slamming shut, as if it had been pushed with the force of a hurricane.Rapid, heavy footfalls came from backstage, sounding through the auditorium.Suddenly, a figure burst through the wings and onto the stage, heaving for breath, and looking like the human equivalent of a forest fire.Lance’s eyes went wide and he forgot what he had been saying.Whoa.#Lance was going to play Sky Masterson in his school's production of Guys and Dolls... until the new kid stole the role from him.He never counted on the new kid stealing his heart, too.





	1. overture

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm brand-new to ao3, and this is my first fanfic! I'm really excited for it. I have no idea how long it'll end up, and updates will likely be inconsistent for a while (thanks final exams), but hopefully come summer I can establish a schedule of some kind! 
> 
> The musical Keith and Lance are in is called "Guys and Dolls," and there are recordings of it on youtube if you want to watch it. It's a really cute show and I love the music :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Lance stood on the stage, chest heaving, still frozen in the final pose of his audition number. Mr. Coran still hadn't looked up from scribbling on his notepad, but Shiro was looking at Lance intently, smiling slightly. He leaned over and whispered something to Coran, who nodded in agreement before looking up at Lance.

"Thank you, Lance. We'll let you know."

Lance let his body relax out of the pose, and nodded. "Thank you." He walked offstage, his stomach doing flips of nervousness that wouldn't cease until he laid eyes on the cast list.

As soon as he stepped out of the auditorium and into the school hallway, Lance found himself wrapped in a bear hug.

"Oof! Hunk?"

"How'd it go? Do you think you got the part?" Hunk's voice gave away his excitement.

Lance laughed, but it came out more like a wheeze. "I don't know. I hope so. Also, I, uh, kind of can't breathe?"

"Ha. Right. Sorry." Hunk's grip on him lessened, and Lance drew in a deep breath.

"When's the cast list up?" Pidge asked, leaning up against the cinderblock wall and fidgeting with their Rubik's cube.

"Thursday morning." Lance smiled nervously and wrung his hands.

"Uh oh," said Pidge. "You know what that means?"

"Three whole days of anxious Lance being cranky from not enough sleep," Hunk supplied.

"Hey!" Lance protested, nudging Hunk with his shoulder.

"He's not wrong." Pidge shrugged. "But I don't know why you always get so nervous. You're a shoe-in for the part."

Lance smiled at his friend, his anxiety eased momentarily. "Thanks, Pidge. I guess it's just that I've always wanted to play Sky Masterson, and now my chance is finally here..."

"You're gonna make a perfect Sky Masterson," Hunk said. He looked at his watch. "C’mon, let’s go to your house. I think a celebratory pizza is in order."

The trio made their way to Lance's house in Hunk's car, for copious amounts of junk food and Mario Kart, even though it was a school night. Lance tried to focus, but his mind was still in the auditorium, reliving the audition over and over again, finding more mistakes each time. He was so deep in thought that when Pidge had blew up both him and Hunk with a blue shell, it took a moment to register.

"Come on!" Hunk yelled indignantly. "Was that really necessary?"

"Nah," said Pidge, not even taking their eyes off the screen, where they had moved into first place. "But it was fun."

"Lance, you're not even mad?" Hunk asked incredulously.

"What?" Lance shook his head. "Oh. Blue shell. Nice."

"Dude, you're off in la-la land," Pidge said. "Still thinking about the audition, huh?"

"Yeah." Lance rubbed his eyes.

"If you want, we can call it quits after I win this race," Pidge offered.

Hunk scoffed. "Wow. How generous of you."

"I am nothing if not generous," Pidge shot back before sailing across the finish line.

"Actually, though," Hunk said, "you should try to get some sleep, Lance. It's almost eleven."

"Shit, really?" Lance blinked, realizing how bleary his vision had gone due to fatigue.

"Yeah," Pidge said. "I better go, before my mom freaks out too hard."

"I'll drive you," Hunk said, and the two of them stood up to leave.

"Okay." Lance yawned, hauling himself up to his feet, and followed his friends up the stairs. After Pidge and Hunk left, he stripped down to his boxers and fell into bed. His eyelids were too heavy to stay open, but his brain was too wired to sleep. He laid there for at least an hour, in the no-man’s-land between sleeping and waking, until his eyelids finally won out and he drifted off.

#

The next few days of school were torture: Lance couldn't pay attention, and just like Hunk predicted, he was running on fumes, unable to sleep more than a few hours each night. By the time Thursday rolled around, he had been reprimanded for nodding off in class more times than he cared to admit.

But finally, _finally_ the cast list was posted. Lance bounded into the school early on Thursday morning, and all but sprinted to the bulletin board in the cafeteria, which was swarmed by other people who had tried out for the musical.

After _excuse me_ -ing his way through the throng of students, Lance's eyes finally came to rest on the list. He sucked in a breath... this was it. The moment when he would find out whether he got to play Sky Masterson or not.

He scanned the paper from the top down, feeling hopeful. There were a few names he recognized — Allura, Matt, Shay — and a bunch of others he didn't. Lance was so frantic that he almost overlooked his own name.

LANCE ESPINOSA.........................................................................NATHAN DETROIT

It took Lance a moment to register the words on the paper. It was as if English had become foreign to him, and he couldn’t understand any of it. He stared, not wanting to believe what was in front of him.   

"Lance!" He turned around, and saw Pidge jogging toward him, calling his name, followed by Hunk. "Did you get the part?"

Lance quickly shook his head, casting his vision downward. Hot tears of disappointment were threatening to spill over his lashes.  

"What’s going o— Oh. _Oh._ " Hunk’s face cycled through expressions of confusion, realization, and sympathy in the span of a few seconds. He looked at Lance, who wasn’t saying anything, whose lip trembled, who looked so _small_ despite being almost six feet tall. “Oh, man, Lance, I’m sorry.” Lance let himself be pulled into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Hunk’s back as if Hunk were an anchor. He felt a few tears plop from his eyes onto Hunk’s sweater, and tried to control his shaking shoulders.

He felt Pidge place a hand on his back, steady and warm. They didn’t say anything, but the simple gesture made a fresh wave of tears spring to Lance’s eyes.

Lance pulled away, wiping away the tears with his sleeve. "Wait, I gotta see when the first rehearsal is." His voice came out wobblier than he expected, and he turned back to the bulletin board so he wouldn’t have to face anyone. The crowd that had gathered to look at the list was dissipating, anyway. At the bottom of the sheet, it read, _First read-through today at 3:30. Auditorium. All cast and crew members please attend._

"Well?" Pidge asked.

Lance turned around. "It's today. Right after school."

"Wow. That's soon," Hunk said.

"Yeah," Lance replied, trying to steady his voice. “Oh well.”

The bell rang, and the students milling around the cafeteria began heading to class.

"Well," said Pidge, "if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be there too." Lance looked at them, puzzled. “I’m on tech crew, remember?”

"Oh yeah," Lance said as he, Pidge, and Hunk trudged up the stairs. “I forgot.”

“Y’know, Shiro’s a pretty smart guy,” Hunk said. “I think he gave you the part he did because he knew you would shine in it.”

“Or because I’m not good enough to play Sky.” The words were out of Lance’s mouth before he could stop them, sharper than he intended, and he regretted them instantly. Hunk stiffened, and kept walking forward, not saying anything.

“Hunk? I’m sorry. I...”

The three of them reached the top of the stairs. Pidge waved and headed to class, glancing over their shoulder as they went. Hunk pulled Lance aside, out of the way of the tide of students, and sighed. “Look,” he began. “I know how much you wanted to play Sky. I really do. And I’m sorry that you didn’t get the part. It just frustrates me to no end how you think that you’re not good enough just ‘cause you didn’t get the part you wanted. And l stand by what I said; you’re going to be great as Nathan Detroit.”

“Thanks, Hunk.” Lance drew in a breath. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Apology accepted.” Hunk smiled, and placed his hands on Lance’s shoulders. Lance sniffled, and smiled back weakly. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

Lance stepped forward, quickly wrapping Hunk in a tight hug. “Okay.” He let go, and headed to class, turning around to wave at Hunk on his way.

Lance still couldn't pay attention in class that day. All he could think about was the musical, and what it would be like not playing Sky Masterson, the character he had idolized for years. When his Mama took him to see _Guys and Dolls_ for the first time, Lance had immediately gravitated toward Sky’s character. He still wasn’t sure whether it was because he wanted to be Sky, or be the person Sky kissed at the end of the show.

He tried to listen during English, but trying devolved into pretending, and he ended up doodling in the margins of his notebook. Songs from _Guys and Dolls_ drifted through his head, but instead of providing their usual comfort, they felt like taunts coming from the mouth of someone he trusted. And so the day dragged on.

#

When the bell signaled the end of the school day, Lance took his time leaving the classroom, and walked to the auditorium as slowly as his long legs permitted. The closer he got, the bigger the knot of dread in his stomach became.

He opened the door to the theatre, doubts swirling through his head. What would the cast be like? When he looked at the list earlier, Lance noticed that most of the names belonged to seniors. He also realized that he hadn’t bothered to see who was playing Sky Masterson. Oh well. He’d find out soon enough.

When Lance stepped into the theatre, he was greeted by the sounds of talking and laughter. About a dozen people were already sitting on the stage. Shiro and Coran walked in through the audience doors, in conversation about something. Pidge was there, too, perched on a wheeled platform and typing on their laptop.

Wordlessly, Lance walked over and sat next to Pidge. “Hey.”

Pidge looked up from their work. "How’re you feeling?"

Lance shrugged. “I don’t know. Okay, I guess.” The dullness of school had numbed his disappointment slightly. He took a deep breath, and looked around. More people were filtering into the theatre.

Allura caught his eye immediately. She was tall and regal, carrying herself like a queen. She had delicate features and warm eyes, and her long, newly silver curls popped against her dark brown skin. For a moment, Lance forgot all about the events of the morning. He was speechless.

"Dude," Lance whispered to Pidge, who had resumed typing. "Did Allura get even hotter over the summer, or is it just me?"

Pidge glanced up, looking at Allura as she chatted with someone across the room. "I guess so? I like what she did with her hair."

Lance was already on his feet. "I'm gonna go talk to her."

"Okay, loverboy."

"Fancy seeing you here, Allura," Lance said, flashing what he hoped was his most winning smile. "Destiny has brought us together yet again."

Allura rolled her eyes. "I came here to act, Lance. Not to be hit on by juniors."

"So if I was a senior, I'd have a chance?"

"Ha! You wish," Allura shot back, then chuckled. It wouldn't be September in the drama department if Lance didn't pretend to flirt with her.

Lance laughed too, then dropped the flirtatious tone. "How was your summer?"

Allura grinned. "Fantastic! I volunteered abroad for most of it."

"Really? Wow." That was so like Allura, spending her hard-earned summer helping others. Lance felt a swell of pride in his chest for his friend. "What kind of volunteer work?"

"I helped to build a school in Cameroon," Allura replied. "It was a wonderful experience. I believe that if I'm in a position to help others, then it's my responsibility to do so." Allura looked around the theatre fondly. "It _is_ good to be back, though."

"Yeah, I bet."

"And look at you, getting to play Nathan Detroit!" Allura beamed at him.

Lance's cheeks flared up with a blush, and he smiled shyly. "Heh. Yeah. Not what I was hoping for, but Nathan’s still cool.”

“Oh?” Allura inquired. Lance nodded. “Huh. That’s surprising. I can see you as Nathan.”

“What?”

“Sky’s fine, but Nathan has spunk. He has depth. You remind me a lot of him, actually.”

“What? Why?”

A devilish grin spread over Allura’s face. “‘Cause he's a big nerd.”

“Wow,” Lance scoffed. “Rude.”

Allura smiled, then returned to her usual serious tone. "Look around, Lance. This is the strongest cast I've ever been a part of. All of these people are here for a reason; they are what makes the cast strong. And that includes you." She looked him directly in the eyes. "When you play Nathan Detroit, no one will be able to look away. I think this is going to be the best musical the school has ever seen." Allura was confident and firm, so sure of herself.

"I hope so," Lance replied quietly, his stomach abuzz with nervous, slightly volatile butterflies. Allura was right—the rest of the cast members were all-stars. Lance would have to pull his weight, even if it wasn’t as his dream role.

"All right, looks like everyone's here now." Shiro's voice boomed through the theatre, commanding but kind. "Welcome to the first read-through of _Guys and Dolls_ , and congratulations to all of you." Someone whooped, and the room exploded in laughter and applause. "So, if I could just get everyone sitting here in a circle," Shiro gestured to the floor, "then we can introduce ourselves and begin."

Lance sat down on the stage next to Pidge. The black paint of the stage floor was always slightly dusty and scuffed, with a sprinkling of stray glitter. Lance smiled, and felt his disappointment ease, just a little. This, _this_ was what home felt like.

Once everyone was seated, Shiro continued. "I know most of you have been here before, but for those who haven't, my name is Shiro, and I'm the student director. Over there is Mr. Coran, the head of the drama department." He gestured to Coran, who waved. Shiro smiled, and sat down to join the circle. "So, why don't we go around and have everyone say their name and what they're doing in the show."

Allura, as it turned out, was playing Sarah Brown, the leading lady, which made Lance smile. _Good for her._ There were a lot of chorus members in younger grades, but they all sounded thrilled to be there. Pidge's older brother Matt was there, too, as Nicely-Nicely Johnson. As Lance's turn approached, his nervousness grew. Only, it wasn’t just nervousness. There was… excitement in there, too. Even if he wasn’t Sky Masterson, this was still his favourite musical of all time, and it was going to be awesome. Lance smiled shakily. _Be cool. Be cool._

"I'm Pidge, and I'm tech assistant. They/them pronouns, please."

Shiro nodded, along with a handful of others. "Noted." He looked over at Lance.

Lance's turn. He took a deep breath.

"Uh, hi, I'm Lance, and—"

He was interrupted by the theatre door squeaking open and slamming shut, as if it had been pushed with the force of a hurricane.

Rapid, heavy footfalls came from backstage, sounding through the auditorium.

Suddenly, a figure burst through the wings and onto the stage, heaving for breath, and looking like the human equivalent of a forest fire.

Lance’s eyes went wide and he forgot what he had been saying.

_Whoa._


	2. the oldest established

No sooner than his eyes adjusted to the light, Keith became acutely aware of the twenty or so people that were staring at him. His eyes darted around, searching for a familiar face. After a couple seconds that felt like an eternity, he found Shiro. Okay. This would be okay. He knew Shiro—at least, he had known him since the auditions a few days ago.

Shiro smiled encouragingly at Keith, and patted the floor beside him. Oh. Right. Keith noticed for the first time that everyone was sitting in a circle. His legs felt wooden, like he had forgotten how to walk, and he awkwardly made his way to join the group.

Forty eyes were still fixated on Keith as he sat down beside Shiro. The faces they belonged to were inquisitive, curious, and seemed mostly friendly. Their stares still seared Keith, though, like he was trapped in an interrogation room, under the harsh glow of a single incandescent light bulb.

“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled to Shiro.

“Don’t worry about it.” Shiro’s voice was low and warm and reassuring, solid like a rock. “We just barely started. You haven’t missed anything too earth-shattering.” As Keith breathed a sigh of relief, Shiro shifted his gaze to look at someone who was sitting across the circle.

Keith followed, his eyes coming to rest on the person Shiro was talking to.

“Lance, if you want to continue?” Shiro, Keith was learning, had a calm demeanor and infinite patience.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” The boy—Lance—seemed fidgety, twisting his hands and smiling nervously. “I’m Lance Espinosa, and I play Nathan Detroit.”

The circle moved on with introductions, and the person beside Lance spoke. Keith listened politely, nodded at what seemed to be the appropriate time, and then did the same when the next few people said their names.

It was only when Keith let himself fully take in his surroundings that he noticed something: the brown-haired, lanky boy named Lance was staring at him, with his brows furrowed in a strange expression. What was his _problem?_ For an awkward second, he and Keith locked eyes. A beat passed. Keith looked away, his heart thumping, and his blood boiling with anger and embarrassment.

Keith kept his eyes firmly fixed on the ground, until Shiro gently nudged him. “You have to introduce yourself, too, Keith.”

“Oh. Of course. Um.” The words were stuck in his throat. “I’m Keith Kogane, and I’m playing Sky Masterson.” Across the circle, Lance’s eyes grew wide, like he had just realized a life-altering truth, then narrowed menacingly. A murmur swept the crowd, and it took Keith a moment to realize why. Sky Masterson was a lead in the show, and from what he had heard, the leads usually went to seniors, or at the very least, experienced actors. Keith had tried out for the show on a whim, after his new foster mom suggested it. It hadn’t sounded like a bad idea, but Keith never expected to come alive onstage during the audition. He knew he was an okay singer, but he had no idea he was good enough for a lead role in the musical. Keith was prepared to pour blood, sweat, tears, and passion into the show; he was ready to prove himself. Shiro and Mr. Coran seemed impressed by his audition. But there would be no hiding the fact that when it came to acting, Keith was very, very green.

As soon as Shiro began to speak, the muttering died down. “Well, to our new members, welcome! We’re so glad to have you. And of course, to our returning members, welcome back.” Shiro smiled, and his face absolutely lit up. It seemed to Keith that there was no place Shiro would rather be. “Let’s get started with the read-through, shall we?” Shiro retrieved a stack of paper that was almost three feet high, and began passing scripts out to everyone. When Keith got his, he flipped through the pages quickly, creating a tiny breeze that fluttered over his face. There was so much potential in the pages, waiting to be realized, waiting to be read.

It took a while for Keith to get over reading in front of a crowd. His voice was quiet and slightly shaky. Shiro had to ask him twice to speak up. Once, he wasn’t paying attention, and read one of Nathan Detroit’s lines by mistake. Lance glared at him from across the circle.

“What, Sky’s not enough for you? You gotta steal my lines too?” Lance muttered the words quietly enough that Shiro didn’t catch them, but Keith definitely heard. He looked back down at his script, face burning. _This guy._ What was his deal?

The rest of the read-through, Keith tried his hardest to ignore Lance. He kept his eyes on the script, as if it were a shield against the other boy’s glares.

After a while, Keith forgot about Lance, and became completely immersed in the story. It was about gamblers in New York City, running an illegal crap game, and learning about love along the way. Early on, Keith realized that his character had a love interest, played by a beautiful silver-haired girl named Allura. She looked warm and friendly, and read her lines with the kind of ease one can only get through experience.

Keith balked a little when he read the kiss scene, then steeled himself. It was just a kiss. Not like he’d have to marry her.

All too soon, the read-through was finished. After the last line, Shiro spoke.

“So this is where you all come onstage and take your bows, then the lights will go down and you’ll all exit through the wings.” He took a breath, then smiled, looking satisfied. “Well, actors, you’re free to go! That was a stellar first read-through. Crew members, if you could just hang back for a couple more minutes, that’d be great.”

Keith got up from the floor, dusted off his pants, and stretched. Time to go back to his foster parents’ place. He was about to leave when someone caught his eye.

It was Lance, making his way out of the auditorium with long, loping strides. He was one of the last to leave. Keith followed him down the hallway for a ways, a good ten or fifteen feet between them.

Now or never.

 _“Hey!”_ Keith shouted. Lance turned around, startled, then annoyed once he laid eyes on Keith.

“What do you want?” Lance snarled.

Keith took a couple steps closer. “I want to know what your problem with me is.”

“ _My_ problem? I’m not the one with a problem. That’s you.” He crossed his arms.

“Yeah? Then how come you were glaring at me all through practice?” Keith’s voice rose.

“‘Cause you were stealing my lines,” Lance replied unconvincingly.

“Huh. That’s funny,” Keith said. “Because, as I remember it, you were glaring at me before then. And it was an _accident,_ jackass.”

Lance scoffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“So tell me, what’s your deal? You got the lead, didn’t you? Why are you so upset about one silly mistake?”

Lance’s eyes flashed. “Mistake?” he said quietly. “I’ll tell you what the mistake was.”

“By all means,” Keith said sarcastically, gesturing around. “Enlighten me.”

“You ever been in a play before?”

“Huh?” The question caught Keith off guard.

“You’re new here, I can tell. Nobody but Shiro seemed to recognize you. Have you acted before?”

“No, this is my first time.” Keith was defensive. “Why does it matter so mu—”

“Oh my fucking god,” Lance said quietly. His voice rose with every next word. “Are you _kidding me?”_ He stepped forward, almost yelling at full volume. “I’ve been doing this for _years,_ Shiro’s known me for years; I’ve wanted to play Sky Masterson since I was _twelve freaking years old!_ And then you, a complete newbie, you just _waltz in,_ and—”

“Everything okay out here? I heard yelling.” Keith turned around and saw Shiro standing outside the theatre door, looking concerned.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine,” Keith lied quickly.

Shiro didn’t buy it for a second. “Go home, guys. And come back tomorrow without these chips on your shoulders.” He sounded more disappointed than angry, which was somehow worse.

For a second, neither of them moved. Shiro raised his eyebrows. Then Lance huffed, turned on his heel, and left, but not before glaring at Keith one last time.

“So, what was that?” Shiro asked. Keith looked at the floor, but he knew that Shiro’s eyes were burning holes through his head.

“It was nothing.”

“Right. Well,” Shiro said, “nothing better not happen again.”

Keith nodded. “Of course.”

Shiro turned to go back into the theatre. “See you tomorrow, Keith.”

“See you.”

Once Shiro left, Keith stood there for a moment. His first day in the musical, and he had already managed to fuck up and make enemies, just by existing.

 _Whatever,_ he thought, as he exited the school and began the twenty-five-minute walk to his foster parents’ house. _Lance can go to hell._

Keith tried to take his mind off of Lance by remembering the good parts of practice. Everyone else had been so welcoming, so excited to be there with people who shared their passion. And the script was funny; hilarious, actually. It was full of snappy one-liners and ridiculous antics as the gamblers attempted to avoid being caught by the cops. The cast was really talented, too, and with the exception of the freshmen in the chorus, it was clear that they all had experience. This only made Keith more nervous, though: what if the others reacted the way Lance had to finding out he had never been in a play before?

His walk home took him down Main Street. He had only been living in the small town with these foster parents for a few weeks, so everything was still new and exciting. He made a point to explore a little bit each day while walking home from school. Today, he strolled past the quilt shop, peering through the large front window. Inside, there were eight or ten old ladies, their chairs angled in a circle, talking and laughing while they hand-stitched quilts. Probably gossiping, Keith guessed. Once, he had stayed in a foster home belonging to an elderly lady named Mary Ann, and she always had her friends over. She called it crochet group, but everyone knew that the ladies gathered there to eat Bundt cake and talk shit. Keith smiled. Some things were universal.

When he got home, he said hi to his foster mom, and politely chatted with her for a few minutes, before escaping to his room. He was grateful when she forgot to mention the musical; the musical she herself had suggested that Keith try out for.

If anyone had asked, Keith would have said he was doing homework. Instead, he was lying on his bed, ignoring the lumps in the mattress, and listening to the _Guys and Dolls_ soundtrack. He closed his eyes, imagining opening night, when he would dance around the stage in a suit and fedora, the very embodiment of vintage cool. The prospect of performing in front of a packed theatre terrified him, but Keith pushed the fear down. He was bound to the play as if by a contract, which was good, because if not, he probably would have backed out.

He had the part. Now he had to follow through. It wouldn’t be so hard. _It would be like learning how to swim,_ Keith told himself. _It just takes a while to get comfortable in the water._

Then Keith remembered Lance.

 _Scratch that,_ he thought. This would be like learning to swim in piranha-infested whitewater rapids, while being chased by a ravenous bear in a jet boat.

Keith closed his eyes, letting the next song wash over him, and hoped that he would come out of this in one piece.

 _Luck be a lady tonight,_ indeed.


	3. follow the fold

At practice the next day, Lance made it his mission to avoid Keith. It seemed like a sound enough plan—Keith couldn’t be an asshole to Lance if Lance wasn’t anywhere near him. 

That plan failed miserably within five minutes, however, when Shiro put Keith and Lance together to run lines. 

“You two are going to be rehearsing the scene where Nathan and Sky first meet, okay? Read expressively. And  _ play nice.” _ The warning in Shiro’s voice was clear as crossed his arms and waited for Lance and Keith to begin. 

Keith had the first line. He delivered it with bite; the sharpness in his voice completely out of character for Sky Masterson. No way was this acting.

Oh, so  _ this _ was how it was going to be. Fine. Lance could play along. 

Lance spoke his next line with just as much venom as Keith had, or possibly more. 

Keith met his eyes, and if looks could kill, Lance would have been a dead man. Keith was burning him with his stare, squaring his jaw before speaking his next line. It wasn’t an antagonistic line, but the way Keith said it, it could have been interpreted as a death threat. 

They continued on, each line filled with implicit insults and tempers barely kept under wraps. Before they reached the end of the short scene, though, Shiro cut them off, sounding exasperated. 

“All right, that’s enough. Lance, go run lines with Matt and Shay. Keith, go find Allura. I’ll be right there, and you two can start learning ‘I’ll Know’.” 

Lance grumbled and walked away to join Shay and Matt. The rest of the practice passed without incident, but when he looked away from his group and the script, he caught Keith staring daggers into his back. 

#

By the time practice rolled around on Monday, Lance had almost forgotten about Keith.  _ Almost. _ It was shaping up to be a good rehearsal, too, starting with a read-through of the first act. Already, Lance could tell that everyone was really into the play; their lines were coming out more expressive, and the amount of people who stumbled over words had decreased quite a bit. 

It was all going fine, until Shiro dropped a bomb on Lance: “Okay, great work, everybody. We’re going to start learning some basic choreography today. Allura, Shay, and the Hotbox Girls, you’re with me. Everyone else, you’re with Mr. Coran.”

Lance looked over at Keith. Across the stage, Keith paled, then steeled himself, like he was preparing for a sickening ordeal. 

_ Whatever. This would be fine. _ Lance was a great dancer. Keith would just have to try to keep up. 

“Five, six, seven, eight!” Mr. Coran counted. “No, other way, Lance—” Keith smirked, but that only lasted for a second, because Lance crashed into him, knocking them both to the floor. 

“Oof!”

“Watch where you’re going,” Keith hissed. His voice was quieter than usual, muted by the lack of air that came from Lance landing on top of him. For someone so lanky, Lance was surprisingly heavy. 

_ “You _ watch where  _ you’re _ going,” Lance shot back, rolling off of Keith and scrambling to his feet. 

“Is everyone okay?” Mr. Coran asked, as Keith got up and dusted off his pants. 

“Yeah, just peachy,” Lance grumbled. 

“You’re the one that knocked us over.” Keith rolled his eyes. 

“All right, boys, let’s try this again!” Either Mr. Coran was oblivious to the tension, or he was ignoring it. “A-five, six, seven, eight!”

A few steps into the routine, Keith stepped the wrong way, and grapevined right onto Lance’s foot. 

“Ow!” Lance howled, hopping on the foot that hadn’t been stepped on. “What the hell was that for?”

“Same reason why you pushed me over,” Keith said coolly. “I’m presuming it was an accident.”

Lance scoffed. “Accident, my ass.” He was already walking away. “I’m gonna go work on music with Shiro. Catch you later,  _ Keith.” _ He spat out Keith’s name like an expletive. 

Keith stood onstage, silently fuming, until Coran snapped him out of it. 

“Er, Keith? Let’s continue with the choreography, shall we?” Keith noticed that Mr. Coran and everyone else in their group was staring at him, with expressions ranging from annoyance to concern.

“Yeah,” Keith said, still watching Lance leave. “Sorry.” 

#

By the time Thursday’s rehearsal rolled around, Shiro had had enough of Lance and Keith being at each other’s throats. How was the musical going to succeed if two of the main characters couldn’t even be in each other’s presence without bickering? As annoying as the bickering was, it was also the least of the many problems Keith and Lance had with each other. Every day, it seemed, they would get into a fight. Usually their skirmishes started as verbal, with someone throwing around insults, then spiralled into messing up a dance sequence and ‘accidentally’ stepping on someone’s foot. Before long, Shiro would have a full blown fight on his hands that needed to be broken up. Lance and Keith needed to learn to get along, or at least be civil to each other. Sooner rather than later, too. 

After breaking apart Thursday’s conflict before it could escalate, Shiro took Lance by the arm and dragged him backstage. 

_ “Hey! _ Shiro, what’re you—” Lance started to complain, but one withering look from Shiro silenced him. Shiro had the patience of a saint and was slow to anger, always giving the benefit of the doubt. If he was this angry, then by god, Lance was scared. 

“Lance,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “I’m only going to say this once.”

Lance gulped. 

“Whatever your problem is with Keith, it needs to stop. Leave your baggage at the door when you come to rehearsal. You two have been fighting like cats and dogs since day one, and I expect better from both of you.” Lance looked at the floor. “Especially from you, since I know you, and I know the standards that you hold yourself to onstage.” Shiro paused, giving thought to his next few words. “If I had known you were going to act like this, I would have given the part to someone else.”

Lance’s stomach lurched.  _ No. _ He couldn’t lose his part. He would be so nice to Keith if Shiro didn’t decide to kick him out right now. He would buy Keith a goddamn fruit basket. He would—

“This is your warning,” Shiro continued. “And I’ll be warning Keith as well. I would hate to lose either of you, but I can’t have my cast members acting so viciously towards one another. Mr. Coran agrees with me on that.”

Lance nodded, his head hanging even lower, too ashamed to be properly relieved that he wasn’t going to lose his part. 

“So since you’ve been wasting so much time at rehearsal fighting, Mr. Coran and I agree that it’s only fair that you put in some time elsewhere.”

Oh god. Here comes the punishment. Wait for it. Wait for i—

“You’re going to be painting sets tomorrow after school.”

Oh. Lance relaxed. That didn’t sound so bad…  _ Wait! _ “B-But… I’m not  an artist!” Lance spluttered. 

“You don’t have to be an artist for this kind of set painting,” Shiro said. “All you’re doing is putting on the base coat.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Think you can do that?” Shiro’s voice had gotten a little kinder, more like his usual gentle demeanor. 

“Yeah,” Lance replied. And then, “I’m sorry. For the fighting. You shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of crap.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Shiro said. “But where there’s people, there’s conflict.” He put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Now go show me how much better you can do.”

#

When Lance arrived in the theatre after school on Friday, it was empty save for Shiro, who was hauling set pieces onto the stage. 

“I’m here,” Lance called, waving at Shiro. 

Shiro put down the set piece he was carrying, and smiled, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Good. Now we just need your set painting buddy to get here, and we’ll be ready to go.”

Lance choked on air.  _ “...Buddy?” _

“You thought you’d be doing this alone?”

“Well, yeah.”

Shiro chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “Not a chance. It would take way too long. He should be here any minute—”

As if on cue, the backstage door creaked open, and Keith walked onstage, looking much less frenzied than he had the first time he had burst through that door. 

_ No fucking way. _

“I’m with  _ him?” _ Lance cried.

At the same time, Keith’s eyes went wide, and he yelped, “What is  _ he _ doing here?”

Shiro gave them a warning look, reminding them of the reason they were there in the first place. “You’re here to paint sets,” he said evenly. “Together.”

Both boys stared at Shiro, mouths hanging open in disbelief. 

“The paint is over there.” Shiro pointed to the front corner of the stage. “There are brushes, rollers, trays… Don’t worry about getting paint on the stage; we’re going to repaint it before the show opens anyway.” He clapped his hands together. “I think that about covers it. If you need me, I’ll be organizing the booth.  _ Don’t kill each other.” _

Before Shiro had even left, Lance started sending silent prayers to every god in existence.  _ Dear miscellaneous gods, please don’t let Keith kill me. Sincerely, Lance.  _ Oh god, what if Keith actually killed him? It wouldn’t be unprecedented. Lance could picture the headlines:  _ Local superstar gets murdered by a weirdo with a paintbrush; more at eight.  _ This was it. This was how it would all end—

“So which piece do you want to paint first?”

“What?” 

Keith sighed. “I said, which piece do you want to paint first?”

Oh. Keith wasn’t gonna kill him. “Um… how about that big one over there?” Lance pointed at the large storefront facade that Shiro had laid down on the stage. 

Keith nodded. “Okay. Cool. I’ll get the brushes.”

“I’ll… get the paint.” Lance said cautiously. Keith was being surprisingly not hostile. Could he actually be trying to call a truce?

“Y’know,” Lance said, once they had set up the cans of paint around the plywood cutout. “I’ve never actually painted something like this before.”

“Really?” Keith raised his eyebrows. “Wow.”

“Shut up.”

“You initiated this conversation,” Keith said. “But whatever. It’s cool. I can show you how, if you want.” He said it carefully, neutrally, as if not wanting to disturb the precarious peace between them.

Lance considered it for a moment. “Yeah, that’d be… Thanks.”

Keith nodded. “Okay. Well, you have to come over here. So I can show you.”

Lance got up, then knelt down next to Keith. 

“Okay,” Keith said. “So, you take the brush.” He held out the brush, and Lance mirrored him, holding up his own brush. “And then you dip it in the paint.” Carefully, methodically, Keith submerged the bristles of his paintbrush in white paint. 

Lance did the same. “And then what?”

“And then,” Keith grinned,  _ “you paint!” _ Before Lance could register what was happening, Keith had reached his arm out and painted a broad stripe across Lance’s cheek, then sprung to his feet and dashed across the stage, his paintbrush leaving droplets of white in its wake. 

_ “You traitor!” _ Lance shouted, scrambling to his feet and coming after Keith with his own sopping paintbrush. Keith might have been shorter and more agile, but Lance had long legs that could cover lots of ground. In a couple seconds, Lance had caught him. Keith honest-to-god  _ squealed _ when Lance left a streak of white paint across his chest. Keith’s black V-neck shirt had taken most of the paint, but some of it ended up on his skin, just below his collarbone. 

“It’s on!” Keith yelled, dashing back to the paint bucket and dipping his brush. Once he was within a few feet of Lance, he pulled back the bristles on his paintbrush as if it were a slingshot, then released it and let paint splatter all over the back of Lance’s head. 

“Are you  _ kidding?”  _ Lance’s hand went reflexively to his hair, unintentionally smearing the paint around. “I  _ just _ deep conditioned!”

Keith burst out laughing as he evaded Lance. “Did you actually? Holy fuck, that’s hilario— _ Hey!” _

Lance grinned as he twisted a paint-covered hand through Keith’s shaggy black hair. “There! Now we’re even.” He stepped back, looking at Keith, then snorted with laughter. “Dude, the paint in your hair makes you look like a skunk.”

Lance was doubled over laughing, not at all prepared for when Keith charged and tackled him to the floor, knocking the wind out of him when Keith landed on top. 

Lance laughed, until Keith shifted, sitting on Lance’s stomach, looking like he had no intention of getting up. He groaned. “Dude, how is this fair? Like, you even  _ started _ this, come on—”

“What? What was that? I just heard something; I think it was the wind,” Keith said innocently. 

“Asshole,” Lance said, but he was laughing, and there was no venom in the remark. “Lemme up, I can’t breathe.”

“Fine,” Keith huffed, and rolled off of Lance, smiling, not prepared for when Lance planted his paint-covered hand in the middle of Keith’s face, smushing Keith’s nose and pushing him backwards onto the floor. 

“Ha! Gotcha!”

When it became clear that Keith wasn’t going to move from where he was laying down on the floor, Lance laid down next to him, and looked at Keith’s paint-covered face. Keith looked content, and his features were relaxed. It was so different from how Lance usually saw him—tense, with his jaw set and his eyebrows knitted together perplexedly. It was… nice. 

Keith turned his head, looking at Lance, barely concealing a snort of laughter. Lance could only imagine how the two of them must look. 

They both burst out laughing, and Lance wondered what he was doing, laying on the stage floor, covered in paint, and laughing his ass off with  _ Keith Kogane _ of all people. 

He had to admit, it didn’t feel half bad. 


	4. i'll know

Keith laid there, feeling the paint dry crusty on his skin and clothes and hair, and basked in a feeling that he couldn’t quite name. Was it peace? Endorphins? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it was, it was nice. 

Neither of them spoke, and they stayed like that for a few moments, lying on their backs in amiable silence. Keith looked over at Lance, who had an easy smile on his face, unaware of Keith studying his features. Lance was gazing up at the ceiling like it was a sky full of stars, and for the first time since Keith met him, his eyes were warm and relaxed. 

Keith was startled out of his reverie when Lance spoke. 

“We should probably paint these before Shiro comes after us.” 

“Yeah.” Keith sat up, then hauled himself to his feet, returning to the set piece that Lance had first suggested they paint. “Have you actually never painted before?”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.” 

“It’s not that hard,” Keith said, painting a few strokes near the edge of the plywood cutout. “Use short strokes, and go in different directions.”

“Like this?” Lance asked, demonstrating.

“Yeah, like that.” 

For awhile, there was only the swishing of their brushes as they worked, starting on opposite sides of the cutout and moving towards the middle. It went a lot faster than Keith expected; Lance was a quick learner. 

“So where did you move here from?” Lance seemed hesitant to break the silence. 

“Arizona,” Keith said. 

“Wow. That’s a ways away.” Lance chuckled. 

“Yeah. But I’m getting used to it.”

“Did your parents get jobs here or something?”

Keith froze, unsure of how to answer. “Uh… not exactly. I’m a foster kid.” He said it quickly. 

“Oh. Uh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Lance’s voice had gone staccato, unsure of what to say, but feeling that he should say  _ something.  _

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Keith said. “It isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, but… it must be hard, and—”

“Can we talk about something else?” Keith cut him off. He couldn’t do this. Not today; not with someone he’d only just decided was okay. 

“Yes.” Lance nodded, clearly eager to leave the awkward conversation behind. “Totally.”

“So are we doing the twenty questions thing?” Keith asked. “‘Cause that was the impression I got.”

Lance laughed nervously. “I mean, that wasn’t what I had in mind, but yeah. Sure.” He paused. “You wanna go first?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He focused on his brushstrokes as he thought of a question. “Pineapple on pizza: yes or no?”

Lance looked at him, scandalized. “Um,  _ no, _ obviously. Like any sane person would ruin a perfectly good pizza by putting  _ fruit _ on it.”

“Seriously?” 

“Wait… You’re telling me that you put pineapple on your pizza? I knew you were a freak,” Lance said jokingly. 

“Eh,” Keith shrugged. “I can take it or leave it. Your turn.” He put more paint on his brush, a little nervous of what Lance was going to ask him. 

“Cats or dogs?”

Oh. That wasn’t so bad. “Dogs, I guess. I’ve never really had a pet, but cats seem more… difficult. Like, they never listen.”

“But they’re so cute!” 

“So are dogs. And dogs don’t usually bring you dead animals as gifts.” Keith pondered his next question. “If you could time travel, would you?”

Lance thought for a minute. “...I don’t know.”

“That’s a cop-out answer and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, it’d be interesting, but what if I got stuck in the fifteenth century? Or did something that indirectly killed Einstein before he was supposed to die? What if the future sucks and the human race is being hunted by robot overlords?”

Keith had to admit, Lance had a point. “Fair enough. Your turn.”

“Hmm,” Lance mused. “Why did you try out for the play?”

“Honestly,” Keith said, “I have no idea. My new foster mom suggested it, and it sounded like fun, I guess.”

“Is it?” Lance asked. “Fun, I mean. Is it what you thought it would be?”

“Not at first,” Keith said. “Definitely a lot more work that I expected. But yeah, I like it so far.” He smiled. “What about you? Why’d you try out?”

“I wanted to be Sky Masterson.” Lance said it quietly, avoiding Keith’s eyes. “Have for years, ever since I first saw the show.” 

“Oh.” Something coiled up in the pit of Keith’s stomach, cold and guilty. So that meant… if Keith hadn’t tried out… Oh. That’s why Lance had been so defensive and upset. Keith had stolen his dream role right out from under him.  _ Shit. _ “I… I’m sorry,” he offered weakly. 

“It’s okay,” Lance replied. “Can’t always get what we want.” He sounded bittersweet. “Besides, I think I like being Nathan. And you’re gonna make a great Sky.” He smiled, soft and genuine, and something melted inside Keith. “And I’m sorry, too,” Lance continued, “for being such an asshole to you, especially when you didn’t do anything. I know it’s no excuse, but…”

“It’s understandable,” said Keith. “Honestly, I probably would’ve done the same if some newbie got something that I’d been working toward for years.”

Lance nodded, taking in Keith’s words. Silence settled over them like a blanket, but instead of being suffocating, it felt reassuring and warm. 

“So… are we good now?” Lance asked tentatively, hopefully. 

“Yeah,” Keith said. “I think so.” 

A few hours later, when they had finished painting and cleaning up, Shiro came down from the booth. “How’d it go?”

“It was good,” Lance said, looking over and smiling at Keith, who nodded in agreement. 

Shiro surveyed the crisp white set pieces, looking at them appreciatively. “Well, excellent job, you two.” Then, upon closer inspection of Lance and Keith, “Why is there paint in your  _ hair?”  _

Keith looked at Lance, who was clearly biting back a smile. Keith couldn’t help it—he snickered. Like dropping a lit match in gasoline, the boys erupted in another fit of laughter. 

Shiro eyed the stage, and the paint that had clearly been flung onto it, but didn’t say anything. The hostilities between the two boys were gone, and had been replaced by something resembling a friendship. 

Shiro smiled, happy that something necessary had been accomplished. 

Oh, and the set pieces were painted, too. That was a definite plus. 

#

“This is no fun,” Lance complained later that night, throwing down his video game controller. Hunk nodded in agreement. 

Pidge shrugged. “It’s not my fault that you guys suck at Mario Kart.” 

After a long week of school and rehearsal, Lance was not in the mood to continue being beaten at Mario Kart by Pidge. “Whatever. I’m over this.”

“We could do something else,” Hunk suggested, setting down his controller and unrolling his sleeping bag onto the floor of Lance’s basement. 

“Like what?” Lance flopped on the couch, his footie-pajama clad limbs hanging off of it in every direction. 

“I don’t know,” Hunk said. “How about truth or dare?” 

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered. 

“What? No,” Lance protested. “It’s one in the morning!”

“Yeah, and that’s the perfect time to play truth or dare,” Pidge said, smiling deviously. “Because by now, nobody’s awake enough to make good decisions. I think it’s a  _ great _ idea, Hunk.”

“Ugh. Fine,” Lance huffed. 

“I’ll go first,” Hunk said. “Pidge: truth or dare?”

“Dare.” 

“Okay. I dare you… to text the seventh person in your contacts and tell them that you have the duckling they asked for.”

Pidge scrolled through their contacts and tapped out a quick message. “Done.” 

“Who did you send it to?”

“Shiro.” Pidge grinned. 

“That was a lame dare,”Lance said, shaking his head. 

“I didn’t want it to be something incriminating!” Hunk said. 

“Silly duckling,” Pidge said. “Truth or dare is  _ supposed _ to be slightly incriminating.” They shoved a handful of chips in their mouth, then wiped the fake cheese dust on their pajama shorts. “Let me show you how it’s done. Lance, truth or dare.” 

“Uh, dare, I guess?” 

“Hmm…” Pidge drummed their fingers on their thigh, being agonizingly slow in picking out a dare. “Mix all the condiments that are in your fridge and then drink it like a smoothie.”

“Dude! No freaking way.” Lance shook his head. “I am  _ not _ doing that.”

“Chicken,” Pidge teased. “Fine. Then you have to do truth.”

“Whatever. I didn’t wanna get up anyway.”

“Heh. You might wish you had opted for the dare,” Pidge snickered. “Who do you like?”

Lance groaned, and felt his face heat up. “What is this, middle school?”

“C’mon, Lance, tell us who you  _ li-ike,” _ Hunk said in a singsong voice, hugging his pillow to his chest.

“I don’t like anyone right now, okay?” 

“Sure you don’t.”

“I  _ don’t!” _ Lance buried his face in his hands. 

“Okay, Lance,” Pidge said, exchanging knowing eye contact with Hunk. “I totally believe you, and definitely do not think you’re a big liar.” 

“I did not consent to this game,” Lance said, his voice muffled through his hands. He turned over on the couch, his back to Pidge and Hunk. “I’m going to sleep.”

“‘Night, Lance,” Hunk said softly.

Once Lance’s breathing had deepened and Pidge was sure he had dozed off, they turned to Hunk. “He’s totally lying. I know that look. That’s the ‘I-like-someone-and-won’t-admit-it’ look.”

“Oh, no question,” Hunk agreed. “But who could it be?”

#

On Monday, Keith was white-knuckling his cafeteria tray, looking around the room for a place to sit. Compared to other schools he had been at, this one was small, in both area and population, but crowded lunchrooms held their own special menace. The tables were packed with people he didn’t recognize. Keith debated just eating in the library or the hall, as he had been doing before, and was seriously considering it when someone tapped his shoulder. 

Keith whipped around, startled, almost dropping his tray, and came face to face with Lance, who was breathless and smiling. 

“Hey!”

“Hi,” Keith managed, once his heart rate had slowed down. “What’s up?”

“Oh, not a lot,” Lance said. “I was just sitting over there, with my friends, and I noticed you, and…” He trailed off, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to come sit with us?”

That couldn’t be a blush on Lance’s face. The cafeteria was just warm. 

“Who’s ‘us’?” Keith asked. 

“Just me and Hunk and Pidge.”  _ Pidge. _ That name rung a bell from rehearsal. The image of a short kid with intelligent eyes popped into Keith’s head. “So are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Keith decided. “Thanks.” He followed Lance to a table at the back of the cafeteria. It was tucked into a corner, and somehow felt secure. Less exposed. 

“Have a seat.” Lance gestured grandly, as if they were at a five-star restaurant, and not a ketchup-stained cafeteria table. Keith hesitantly sat down across from Lance. Beside Lance was a towering boy with dark hair and a friendly face. 

“Hi,” said the boy, extending a large hand. “Name’s Hunk.”

“Keith.” Hunk’s hand was warm when Keith reached across the table and shook it, and he had an iron grip. 

Lance gestured to the person beside Keith. “And this is Pidge. They’re basically ninety percent of my impulse control.”

“Hey,” Pidge said. Keith barely had time to say “hey” back before Lance and his friends launched back into a conversation. From the way it sounded, it seemed like they had started this debate before Keith had joined them. 

“Okay, but  _ if  _ aliens did come to earth, how would they even communicate their intentions? Would they just hover there and wait, or start blowing shit up, or—”

Hunk was cut off by Lance, who slammed his hands down on the table. “What if they had translation technology? Like, this little machine that could listen to humans speaking English or Mandarin or whatever, and then translate it into alien language?”

“You do realize that that only happens in sci-fi films from the nineties, right?” Pidge raised an eyebrow. 

“And even if the aliens did have one of those, how would we know what was going on? Like, if a spaceship just appeared over earth one day, I bet you a lot of money that world leaders would shoot first and ask questions later,” Hunk pointed out. “They’d be panicking, because,  _ hello? Aliens?” _

There was a lull in the conversation, and Lance and his friends looked at Keith, who was wide-eyed. 

“This is usually the part where new people run away,” Hunk said, his voice hushed in adjustment to the newfound quiet. Pidge nodded in agreement, taking a long, noisy slurp from their juice box. 

They all looked expectantly at Keith.  _ Your move. _

“What if the aliens transmitted information using binary code?” The words were out of Keith’s mouth before he knew that he said them, and more kept tumbling out. “Or, what if there was some kind of universal language, like space-Esperanto?”

Pidge’s nodding became more enthusiastic, and they put down their empty juice box, turning sideways on their chair to face Keith. “That’s… actually a good point. Like, it could be in a series of numbers, like how humans know binary, or a series of taps, like Morse code, or…” Keith listened intently, rapidly becoming absorbed in sharing alien theories with Pidge. So absorbed, in fact, that he didn’t notice the conversation happening across the table from him. 

“Hey,” Hunk whispered to Lance, “is this the same Keith you’ve told us about from the musical?”

“Yeah,” Lance whispered back. “Why?”

“Well, last I heard, you two didn’t exactly… get along.”

“Nah,” Lance said. “He’s cool. It was just a misunderstanding.” A flush crept into his cheeks. Was the cafeteria warmer than usual today?

“That’s good to hear,” Hunk said, glancing back at Keith, who was completely engrossed in the logistics of alien communication. “Because I think you’ve found a keeper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait; final exams have been kicking my butt lol. 
> 
> You can expect another update sometime after June 27th, and hopefully by then I will have established a posting schedule. 
> 
> ALSO! I have set the chapter amount. There will likely be 8 chapters total, but that number is still slightly subject to change. 
> 
> Many thanks to my amazing friend TotallynotFanfics for beta reading!


	5. havana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals are over and I'm back! Hope you folks like this update :)
> 
> Also, I don't know if you've noticed, but the chapters are named after songs from Guys and Dolls. "Havana" is the instrumental that plays while Sky and Sarah are on their first date ;)

“All right, that’s a wrap for today!” Shiro called. Keith breathed a sigh of relief, along with all the other actors. “Great work, everybody.”

Keith stood onstage, catching his breath after an hour and a half of vigorous dancing. He stretched, having quickly learned to wear sweatpants to rehearsal. 

The cast was in the middle of its fourth week of rehearsal, and was progressing in leaps and bounds, much to Shiro’s delight. When Keith had first started, he had moved with the grace of an elephant that had four left feet. Now, though, he felt like he could keep up, even if it still seemed that the others were light years ahead of him. 

The cast had been like a family to him, not caring that Keith had never been in a musical before, and excited to show him the ropes. Allura had taught Keith several breathing techniques for singing. Matt and Shay had put in extra time to help him learn choreography. One day, Lance had even asked Keith if he wanted to run lines together at lunch. What began as a one-time thing became a habit: a few times a week, Keith and Lance snuck off to a quiet alcove in the hallway and practiced their lines together. They usually practiced for half an hour, then ended up talking and laughing about the strangest things for the rest of the lunch break. 

A couple times before he and Lance left together, Keith caught Pidge and Hunk looking at the two of them strangely. Not…  _ bad _ strangely. It just seemed like Pidge and Hunk were co-conspirators, exchanging conspicuous eye contact and knowing smiles, like they knew something Keith didn’t.  

Keith sat on the stage, bending his torso over his legs in as deep a stretch as he could manage, still absorbed in his thoughts. The play was shaping up to be more fun than he ever expected. Even more surprisingly, Lance actually wasn’t horrible to be around. After they had painted the sets together, Keith had braced himself, just in case their truce had been temporary, but it seemed like Lance sincerely wanted to be friends. Lance wasn’t merely tolerable, Keith was finding. As much as it shocked him to admit, spending time with Lance was actually kind of… nice?

“What’re you smiling about?” Keith was snapped out of his reverie by none other than Lance. 

“Hm?” Keith shifted into a cross-legged position, looking up at Lance. “Oh, nothing. What’s up?”

“I have a sort-of favour to ask you,” Lance said. 

Keith stood up. “Okay.”

“Well, Shiro asked me to go prop shopping tomorrow during practice time.” Lance waved the shopping list that was in his hand, which Keith had only just noticed. “And he said I could bring a friend, so… Do you want to come with me?”

_ He said I could bring a friend.  _ Everything else Lance had said was nearly lost on Keith. 

_ I’m Lance’s friend. _

“Yes,” Keith said, a beat too late, hoping he wasn’t turning tomato red. “I… yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Great!” Lance’s smile lit up his face. “We can meet in here after school, then, and then go downtown.”

“Okay.” Keith nodded. “Are we walking, or…”

“Oh, I have a car,” Lance said quickly. “You just have to promise not to make fun of it.”

“I promise.” 

#

“I can’t believe you drive a fucking  _ minivan!” _ Keith was standing in the student parking lot, shaking with laughter, barely able to choke out the words. 

“Hey!” Lance protested. “You promised!” He walked around to the driver’s side, unlocked the minivan, and got in. 

Keith followed suit, taking deep breaths, almost calmed down. 

“It’s okay, Carol,” Lance said, patting the dashboard. “He didn’t mean it.”

_ “You named your minivan Carol?!” _ Keith all but shrieked, now howling with laughter. 

Lance reached across Keith and opened the passenger door. “Well, I’ll see you downtown, Keith. Enjoy the walk.” A playful, mischievous smile crossed Lance’s face. 

“What? No,” Keith laughed. “Lance, I’m sorry I made fun of your— _ ack! _ What are you doing?”

Lance was tickling Keith’s ribs, leaning all the way across the console and gear shift to reach. 

“What was that? You’re sorry for making fun of my awesome car?”

“Yeah,” Keith gasped between laughs, trying to tickle Lance back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Ha! Tell that to Carol,” Lance said, evading Keith. 

“Shouldn’t… shouldn’t we get going?” Keith passed up the opportunity to make fun of the fact that  _ Lance named his car _ in the hopes that Lance would stop tickling him. 

“Yeah, I guess.” The tickling finally ceased when Lance started the car. When Keith looked over at him, Lance’s face was covered in a rosy blush.

Keith looked away. It would be better to not read too much into it. Besides, Lance was probably straight. 

_ Wait. _ Where did  _ that _ come from?

Keith snuck another glance at Lance, who was humming along to the radio as he turned onto Main Street. He couldn’t have a crush on Lance. Nope. No way. They were just friends; newly not-enemies, in fact. That was all there was to it. This was  _ not _ happening. 

“We’re here,” Lance said cheerily as he put the minivan into park. Keith snapped back to reality, where Lance was already getting out of the car. “C’mon, slowpoke, we’ve got places to be.” 

“Like where?” Keith had to jog to catch up to Lance, who was several strides ahead thanks to his long legs. 

“The antique store is what Shiro suggested, but look over there.” Lance pointed down the street. “The thrift store is way cheaper.” It took a second for Keith to register that Lance had grabbed his hand and was now pulling him down the street. 

“Oh! Lance, slow down!” Keith had almost tripped at least three times while being pulled down half a block. 

“Heh. Sorry.” Lance smiled sheepishly, and opened the door to the thrift store. It was then that Keith became acutely aware of the fact that Lance was still holding his hand. Oh shit.  _ Shit.  _ This was not part of any plan Keith may have had. 

He didn’t let go, though. 

A bell jingled as they walked into the thrift store. Immediately, the scent of dust flooded Keith’s nostrils. His eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside to the dim lighting inside the store. It was bigger than Keith expected inside, with metal shelves along one side, and full clothing racks on the other. 

“So what do we need?”

Lance fumbled for the list with his left hand, since his right hand was still entwined with Keith’s. “Hm… for now, we need an old bottle, a Bible, and a soapbox or a crate of some kind.” He smiled, stuffing the list back in his pocket. “Shiro has entrusted me with the money.”

“Don’t know why he would.” There. That felt more normal. Teasing was normal for the two of them.  _ This, _ holding hands, wasn’t, but Keith couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand away, and Lance seemed okay with it. 

Together they strolled up to one of the shelves that was teeming with well-loved books. 

“We should get an old-looking Bible,” Lance said, looking the contents of the bookshelf up and down. 

“Like this?” Keith crouched down to grab a dusty maroon leather-bound book, letting go of Lance’s hand in the process.  _ Don’t look too disappointed.  _

“Yes!” Lance clapped his hands together, looking thrilled. He took the book from Keith’s outstretched hand, and flipped through the pages, filling the air around them with old-book smell. “It’s perfect.”

Lance’s smile, the way he spoke the words, made letting go of his hand worth it. 

They spent the rest of their time at the thrift store much in the same way—talking and laughing, and taking in all the hidden gems the treasure trove had to offer. 

Half an hour later, they emerged with everything they came for. Keith had found an old glass bottle that would serve as a prop for the town drunk in the play, and Lance found a crate that they could paint to look like a soapbox from the early twentieth century. 

“And we still have money to spare,” Lance said as he loaded the props into the van. “I’m gonna get us milkshakes.”

“What, with the prop money?”

Lance looked taken aback. “Of course not! I am a man of honour. You wound me, Keith.” He shut the minivan’s door, and they started walking down the street to the diner. 

Keith had walked past the diner lots of times on his way to and from school, but had never been inside. 

Stepping through the door was like a blast from the past. Everything was shiny and clean and bright, from the black-and-white checkered floor to the red vinyl benches in the booths to the crisp chrome trim on the countertops. Large windows let in the abundant natural sunlight and provided a peaceful view of the quiet main street. 

Keith followed Lance to the front counter, where a cheerful-looking woman in her fifties greeted them. 

“Hiya, Lance!” The woman had a warm smile that lit up her round face. 

“Hey, Wanda. How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” she said. Then she looked at Keith. “Who’s the fella?”

“I’m Keith,” he said, and reached across the counter to shake Wanda’s outstretched hand. 

“Lovely to meet you, Keith.” She shifted her focus back to Lance. “The usual?”

Lance thought about it for a second. “Actually, could I just get a chocolate milkshake, please?”

Wanda nodded, scribbling on a notepad. 

Lance nudged Keith. “What do you want?”

“You don’t have to get me anything,” Keith said. 

“I know.” Lance smiled, and it was  _ that _ smile; the one that turned Keith’s insides to jelly. “I want to, though.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay,” Keith stuttered. “Thanks.” He looked back at Wanda, her pen poised above the notepad. “Could I have a strawberry milkshake, please?”

“Coming right up.” Wanda went into the kitchen. She was only partially visible behind the counters and cupboards, but they could hear her just fine as she continued to make small talk. 

“So, Keith, are you new to town?”

“Yeah, I am,” he called. “I moved here from Arizona.”

“And how’d you meet this troublemaker?” The smile in Wanda’s voice was audible. 

“We’re both in the school musical,” Keith said. “I met him at rehearsal.”

For a minute or so, the conversation ceased as Wanda blendered the milkshakes. She came back with two tall glasses. 

As Lance paid, Keith took a sip of his milkshake. It was heavenly—cold and sweet, dotted with flecks of fresh strawberries. 

“So how long have you two been together?” Wanda asked. Keith nearly choked on his mouthful of milkshake. Beside him, Lance froze in the middle of hunting for a quarter in his wallet. 

Lance found his voice first. “We, uh. We’re not a couple.”

“Oh,” Wanda said. “Sorry ‘bout that. I just assumed...” She handed Lance his change. “You two enjoy your milkshakes, and just holler if there’s anything else I can get you.”

Lance nodded. “Will do. Thanks, Wanda.”

Wanda disappeared back into the kitchen. Whether it was out of embarrassment or to do actual work, Keith wasn’t sure. 

They wound up at a booth in the back of the otherwise-empty diner. Keith’s face was still burning, and when he glanced over, he saw that Lance’s was equally red, and his eyes were filled with panic, like a deer in the headlights. For once, Lance was quiet. 

They sat down across from each other. 

“So…” Keith ventured. 

“Wanda asked if we were together because I’m bisexual,” Lance blurted. Keith was grateful to be interrupted by Lance, just this once, because he had no idea what to say. 

_ So Lance likes boys, too. _ This was new information. Keith felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe his crush wasn’t as one-sided as he had thought…

“I promise I won’t hit on you or anything,” Lance said quickly. 

_ Oh. _ Something inside Keith crumpled. Lance didn’t feel the same way. He should never have let himself pretend this was a date. 

“And I’m really sorry about earlier,” Lance kept babbling, “if I made you uncomfortable on the way to the store. I won’t do it again.” He buried his face in his hands. When he spoke next, his voice was muffled. “God, I’m so sorry, Keith. This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.” 

Lance looked so…  _ broken. _ Keith wondered if Lance had had to do this before; if he had had to come out to someone who didn’t understand. Was it his family? Some dudebro he thought was his friend? Keith had been there, and  _ god, _ it had felt like a punch to the gut, knocking everything out of him and leaving him numb and bleeding on the floor. 

He wondered if that’s how Lance was feeling now. 

“Hey,” Keith said tentatively. “It’s okay.” He took a breath, deciding on his next words. “I wasn’t weirded out by you earlier. Or ever, for that matter.” 

Lance looked up. His eyes were shiny. “Really?”

“Really,” Keith said. “Since we stopped being at each other’s throats, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. And that isn’t gonna change.” It was the truth; part of it, at least. Keith left out how Lance made his stomach do flips of nervous ecstasy, and how he had never seen a person who threw themselves more completely into their passion. He didn’t mention that he secretly lived for the days when they would run lines together at lunch, alone in the simplest, most casual form of intimacy. He didn't say how his heart almost stopped when Lance’s paint-splattered shirt rode up, exposing his side, or how Lance’s smile was such a perfect, contagious expression of joy, or how he was finally realizing how badly he wanted to kiss him. 

Lance took a deep breath. “Okay. Wow. That… went better than I expected.” He looked relieved, but still shaken. For a second, Keith thought about reaching across the table and taking his hand, but decided against it at the last second.  _ Don't mess things up even more. _

“I’ve been out for half a year now,” Lance continued, his voice wavering. “For the most part it’s been okay, but there are a couple people…” His voice broke. “I just thought it would get easier, and… it hasn’t.” He and Keith looked at each other, their milkshakes long forgotten. 

“You are so strong,” Keith murmured. 

“Heh.” Lance dropped his gaze to the table. “No I’m not. Just good at making rash decisions.” He took a breath. “And I meant what I said. Earlier, if anything came off as me making a move, that isn’t what it was. I’m really sorry—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Keith said firmly. “And that would still be true even if you  _ were _ flirting with me.” 

“Okay.” Lance took a long sip of his milkshake. “Thank you for this,” he said. “For listening about all my baggage, I mean. You’re actually one of the only people who hasn’t asked me if being bi means I have threesomes.” 

“Really? Shit, that’s rough,” Keith said. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m here to listen.”

“Okay. I… might take you up on that.” Lance wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and smiled. “Can we talk about something else now?”

Keith smiled back. “Absolutely.”

#

That night, long after Lance had dropped him off at his foster parents’ house, Keith laid awake, alone and in the dark. He was still adjusting to the quiet nights, something he had never had back in Phoenix. His foster parents had long since gone to bed, and the only sounds were those filtering through his window—the rumbling of passing cars and the cries of birds calling back and forth to each other. 

The rest of their time at the diner had been significantly calmer, and they ended up talking about everything under the sun, no differently than usual. 

Keith kept replaying the events of the afternoon in his head, even though he knew it was a bad idea: Lance tickling him; Lance holding his hand and pulling him down the street, so excited to show Keith what was clearly one of his favourite places. The realization that he  _ wanted  _ Lance to hold his hand.

But then there was Lance saying over and over that he wasn’t into Keith, and apologizing like someone who had been forced to commit a murder: not guilty by intention, but by deed. 

Keith could live with Lance not liking him like that. 

But seeing Lance—strong, funny, vibrant Lance—so broken up and lost and needlessly apologetic?

That had almost broken Keith’s damn heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it! As always, comments give me life. 
> 
> Thank you to TotallynotFanfics for being a rad beta reader :))))


	6. i've never been in love before

“Hello? Earth to Lance.” Hunk waved a hand in front of Lance’s face. “Are you doing okay, man? Because you look kinda sleep-deprived and slightly constipated.”

“What? Oh. I’m fine,” Lance said quickly, refocusing his vision so that he was no longer staring into space with god knows what expression on his face. “I just couldn’t sleep last night.” 

The night before, after Lance had dropped Keith off and went home, he had gone to bed early. Sleep never came, though; Lance just laid there, with memories of that afternoon swirling through his head. Each thought weighed on him like a handful of dirt being tossed onto his chest, swathed in the blankets like a funeral shroud. The more he relived the events of the afternoon, the worse they seemed, flooding out with reckless abandon once he cracked open a box of memories that would have been better left closed. 

“Okay,” Hunk said. “Is there stuff you wanna talk about?”

“Maybe later.” Lance looked at the lunch line, which Keith and Pidge were just leaving, fast approaching the table. 

“Is is about Ke—”

“Shh!” Lance cut him off. Keith and Pidge were only a few feet away. “Uh, hey, Keith.” Lance did his best to sound normal. 

“Hi.” Keith smiled, an occurrence that was becoming more frequent all the time. “How’re you doing?”

“‘M okay,” Lance said, suddenly shy and uncertain. What were the correct boundaries now?  _ Don’t get too close. _

Across the table, Pidge looked disdainfully at their food, providing a welcome distraction. “This is the sorriest excuse for a corndog I’ve ever seen.”

Lance was somewhat aware of his friends engaging in banter around him, but it was foggy and muted, like trying to see and hear through a thick, steamed-up pane of glass. He just looked at the table, munching his sandwich on autopilot, and let snippets of conversation drift by. 

He didn’t notice that the bell rang until Keith put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. “You coming upstairs?”

“Yeah. Just a second.” Lance got up, shoved his belongings into his backpack, and went upstairs with Keith. 

The warmth of Keith’s hand lingered on his shoulder long after it was gone. Its ghost seemed to whisper reminders in Lance’s ear. 

_ Keith is straight. Stop it. _

It took everything Lance had not to skip rehearsal that day. 

#

The next few weeks were a blur of school and practice. Lance was starting to feel normal around Keith again, laughing like he had before the incident at the diner, not shying away. Still, though, he found himself sneaking glances at Keith when he wasn’t looking. There were images in Lance’s brain that he would have painted had he been able to do them justice: Keith’s brow furrowed in concentration; Keith laughing, his smile bright enough to rival the sun; Keith onstage, his voice reverberating through the theatre, suave and smooth as Sky Masterson. 

Lance found himself thinking about these things one day as he made his way to rehearsal. When he got there, the theatre was empty, save for Shiro and Mr. Coran. 

“Lance!” Shiro greeted him. “You’re here early.”

Lance shrugged in response. 

“You don’t need your script today,” Shiro continued. “We’re going to be doing something a little different.”

Lance sat on the edge of the stage, letting his feet dangle, as more and more people entered the theatre. It felt like a throwback to the first read-through; like a weird reiteration of the past. 

“Hey.” Keith sat down next to Lance, who was staring off into space. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“How close opening night is, mostly. It feels like we just started yesterday, but next week we’re performing in front of actual people.” 

“Yeah.” Keith let out a nervous laugh. “I’m actually pretty scared. But also really, really excited. Is that weird?”

“Not at all.” Lance’s smile was warm. “It’d be weird if you  _ weren’t  _ scared, to be honest.” 

“Okay.” Shiro’s voice carried through the theatre as he walked onstage. “Here’s what’s on the agenda for today. Since the play is coming up fast, we’re taking today to teach you folks the basics of stage makeup.” An excited buzz rippled through the crowd at the prospect of not having to dance for hours. “So to speed things up, we’ll be pairing those who are new to theatre with more experience people. Mr. Coran and I will be here to help as well. And yes, before you ask, guys have to wear makeup for the show.”

Shiro walked around, surveying the group, then began pairing people up. Shay, Allura, and Matt ended up with younger students, who were mostly chorus members or played minor roles. 

“And Lance, you’re with Keith,” Shiro finished. “Let’s get started!”

“So where do we go to do the makeup thing?” Keith asked, standing up. He held out a hand to Lance, who took it as he got to his feet. 

“Just upstairs to the dressing room.” Lance pointed backstage to a metal staircase that people were already climbing. 

Lance loved the dressing room. Sure, it was narrow and crowded and absolutely chaotic when the whole cast was inside, but it also had a sort of… almost-magic to it. It invoked a peculiar feeling that made Lance’s heart swell, because he loved the theatre like a second home. 

Keith, of course, had never been in the dressing room before. Lance couldn’t help but watch Keith’s wonderstruck expression as he took in the dressing room and its racks of flamboyant costumes and strange props. 

From the back of the room, above the chatter, Shiro called, “The vanity over by the wall is where we’ll be working.”

The vanity, too, was one of Lance’s favourites. It was a long counter, about desk-height, that ran almost the whole length of the dressing room. There were mirrors all along it, and above the mirrors, round, golden-glowy lightbulbs that brought to mind the glamour of old Hollywood. 

“Cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, still taking everything in, his hushed voice a contrast to the clamor around them. 

“C’mon, let’s go over there.” Lance walked over to his favourite spot at the vanity, with Keith following close behind and sitting down on the stool next to him. 

“So, uh, have you done this before?” Keith asked. 

“What, worn makeup?”

Keith nodded, and Lance noticed that Keith looked a little nervous; a little reluctant. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Lance said. “Just some basic makeup so that you don’t look washed out onstage. We’re not gonna get done up like KISS or anything.”

“Damn,” Keith said, shaking his head. “And here I thought Sky Masterson was secretly a rock star from the eighties.” He smiled wryly at Lance. 

“I mean, Sky is pretty badass,” Lance said. “But Nathan Detroit would rock the KISS makeup even better.” 

The two of them held eye contact for a second, then burst out in undignified laughter, which only intensified when Shiro gave them an odd look as he was handing out makeup and sponges. 

When their laughter finally subsided, Keith said, “You’re probably right, because I seriously have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I can help you,” Lance said. “That’s why they paired us up, remember?” He picked up the paper plate with blobs of cream makeup on it that Shiro had set down in front of Keith. “So usually the first thing we do is foundation.” Lance looked at the multiple shades of foundation on the plate, then pointed at the palest one. “You’re pasty, so you’ll probably want to use this one.”

Keith was nodding solemnly, drinking in all the information. Lance noticed that he had scooted closer to get a better look at the plate of makeup, and was leaning in, scrutinizing the makeup, his brow furrowed in concentration. “How do I put it on?”

“We’re supposed to use sponges, even though they kind of suck,” Lance said, handing Keith a small wedge of foam. “But just get some foundation on it, then kinda dab it on your face and blend it.”

Delicately, Keith dipped the sponge in the blob of foundation, then raised it to his face. His hand hovered there, not quite touching the sponge to his skin. “So… I just smear it on my face?”

“I mean, to start with, yeah.” 

Keith pressed the sponge against his face, right below his cheekbone, then smudged the makeup around. “It’s cold.”

Lance shrugged. “Occupational hazard.” 

Keith continued applying the foundation, trying to evenly distribute it with the sponge. Eventually, though, he groaned in frustration and threw the sponge down on the counter. “It looks weird.”

“Only a little,” Lance said. “It’s just uneven, that’s all.” Keith still looked discouraged. “It’s really good for your first try.” 

“Can you fix it?”

Lance froze, caught off guard by Keith’s request. “Uh… yeah. Sure.” He looked down at the counter, where the sponge had landed in a dusting of stray glitter, rendering it unusable (unless Keith was okay with having glitter on his face for the next few months—glitter, as Lance knew, never fully went away). Keith’s eyes fell on the sponge, too, before he looked back at Lance. 

“You said the sponges weren’t great anyway. Why not just use your hands?” 

Lance hesitated. It was a fair question; in fact, Lance usually put on his own stage makeup that way—applying foundation and concealer with his fingers, and only using brushes for things like blush or powder. 

_ Why not just use your hands? _

Because.  _ Because _ —

Lance realized that Keith was still looking at him, awaiting an answer. “I—”

“Hey. Look at me.” Keith’s voice was gentle, and his murky violet eyes were soft, the fire that usually burned in them dimmed down and warm. “Are you worried about freaking me out? ‘Cause I meant what I said.”

“I… I know,” Lance said. “On a logical level, I know. It’s just…” He sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”

“If you don’t want to do this,” Keith gestured to his face, still covered in uneven streaks of foundation, “that’s cool. Just talk me through it, and I can do it myself—”

“No,” Lance butted in. “It’s okay. I can do it.” 

“Okay.” Keith smiled slightly, and scooted his stool a little closer, turning to face Lance. “Whenever you’re ready, I guess.”

Lance reached out, still hesitant, his hand hovering just above Keith’s skin. Then, before he could chicken out or overthink, he started to blend the foundation until it was an even layer, masking the tiny imperfections in Keith’s skin. 

Keith turned to look in the mirror once Lance had finished blending. “Wow. That’s… kind of weird.” He brushed his fingers over his cheek. 

“Just wait until you get all sweaty from the stage lights and the dancing,” Lance said. “Then it starts to melt and feel really weird.”

Keith laughed. “Gross.” He was still peering curiously at his face. “It looks good, though. Can you do the rest of it?” 

“Yeah, if you want me to.” Lance reached over for a powder brush, and swirled it in the compact, covering the bristles with ivory-coloured powder. “Close your eyes,” he instructed, before lightly swishing the brush over Keith’s face. 

“That tickles.”

“Well, it wouldn’t if you would  _ hold still.” _

Keith complied, and Lance continued, dusting blush over Keith’s high cheekbones, brushing and filling in his eyebrows, putting pale pink stain on Keith’s lips, lining his eyes with a black kohl pencil, painstakingly applying mascara to Keith’s dark lashes. Trying to tune out the nagging voice in the back of his head that was saying  _ isn’t this kind of weird? _

Once he was finished, he sat back and took in Keith’s face. He looked… like Keith. Just sharper, more defined. Maybe a little silly up close, because of all the blush, but it would look perfectly natural once Keith was under the glaring lights of the stage. 

All around them, there was noise and motion, people chattering as they painted each other’s faces, but Lance and Keith had been enveloped in a bubble of quiet and stillness, in unfamiliar territory, neither one of them sure what to do or say next. 

Keith looked in the mirror once again, then turned to Lance. “Aren’t you gonna do your own makeup?”

“Might as well.” They were silent again as Lance made up his own face, blending his shade of foundation until it was one and the same with his brown skin, drawing out his features, putting an artificial flush in the apples of his cheeks. 

He took care, taking his time, paying close attention in the mirror to the task at hand, not noticing that Keith was watching him with a rapt expression, or that Keith’s face was perhaps pinker than the blush had made it a few moments earlier. By the time he had finished, he and Keith were alone in the dressing room, the other cast members having already finished and gone home. Shiro was gone too; he was in the booth with Pidge and Mr. Coran, working on lights. 

There were a few beats of silence. Lance was about to stand up to leave, about to offer Keith a ride home, when—

“Lance.” Keith sounded… tense;  _ strangled, _ almost. Panic shot through Lance like a crash of lightning. A question loomed, unspoken. 

“Yeah?” Lance’s heart thudded in his chest, picking up speed. 

“I need to tell you something.” Keith’s voice was quiet, hoarse with underlying urgency. 

_ Spit it out spit it out.  _

“Okay.” 

Keith took a deep breath, looking down, speaking so softly that Lance almost didn’t catch the words. “I like you.” 

“...What?”

“I like you, okay?” Keith was louder now, words tumbling out of his mouth, spilling like paint onto a canvas of silence. “I’m gay as hell and I like you.  _ Like-like _ you.” Lance’s head was spinning. Keith was getting up off his stool. “And I know you don’t feel the same, but I just really needed to say it, and…” He looked up at Lance, eyes wide. “Oh god please say something.”

Lance stood there, feeling as panicky as Keith looked, his mind racing too fast to form coherent words. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. 

A beat. Silence. Contact between wide, wild eyes.

“I… I’m sorry.” Keith bolted out of the room like an animal that had been spooked, his footsteps thudding down the stairs as hard as Lance’s heart was beating in his chest. 

“Keith, wait! I—”

Too late. 

Keith was gone. 


	7. if i were a bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so because of that last cliffhanger, i've decided to post chapter 7 sooner rather than later. hopefully the angst didn't scare anybody off :) chapter 8 will also be coming quite soon; most likely later this week. 
> 
> a big thank you is in order to everyone who's stuck with this fic, and left kudos and kind comments - it means the world to me. it's still kind of surreal that there are actual humans reading it, and you folks are a big part of what motivates me to keep writing :)
> 
> hope you enjoy, and see you soon!

Lance didn’t know exactly how long he stood in that dressing room. It could have been minutes, or it could have been almost an hour. Time seemed to blur, like swirls of paint in a piece of abstract art, losing all its meaning if stared at long enough.

_I like you I like you I like you I like you_

The words ran through Lance’s mind until they, too, lost their meaning, and something akin to numbness washed over him. Lance felt his feet carry him down the stairs, slowly, cautiously, white-knuckling the handrail because those stairs were steep and treacherous and the last thing he needed right now was to land on his ass.

He wound up outside, in the student parking lot, with the sun getting lower in the sky, casting a rich orange glow over the town, almost blinding Lance in the process. He got in his minivan, grimacing, then flipped down the visor and started the engine.

Lance drove all over town, aimlessly, weaving in and out of side streets, merging onto the small highway that passed through the town, then leaving it, and winding up somewhere in suburbia, in a cul-de-sac of houses that mirrored one another in an eerily perfect way. It was like robot-Lance was driving: he kept his eyes on the road, went through the motions, but his mind was both blank and buzzing, somewhere else entirely.

Somehow, he ended up parked in front of Hunk’s house. Lance pulled the key out of the ignition and walked up to Hunk’s front door, pressing the doorbell in for a long second before releasing it.

“Lance? What’s going on—” Hunk was interrupted by Lance hugging him tightly, burying his face in Hunk’s broad chest. For a second, Hunk’s hands floated in the air, surprised, but then he wrapped his arms around Lance’s back. “Are you okay, buddy?”

“No,” Lance mumbled.

“Do you want to come in and talk about it?” Hunk asked gently.

“Okay.” Then, “Can you call Pidge?”

“Sure,” Hunk said, releasing Lance. “C’mon, I made cookies.”

Lance nodded, and followed Hunk inside.

#

The three friends were sprawled out on Hunk’s bedroom floor: Hunk was sitting in the space under his loft bed, Lance was on his back, halfway lying on Hunk’s lap, and Pidge sat cross-legged across from them.

“So he just… left?” Pidge asked, munching on a chocolate chip cookie.

“And where did he get the idea that you don’t like him?” Hunk added.

Lance sighed. “I _told_ him I didn’t like him like that a couple weeks ago at the diner, ‘cause Wanda kind of accidentally outed me. So I had to do the whole ‘I like boys but I’m not gonna hit on you’ spiel. You know how it is.” He looked up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. “If I had known he was gay, I probably wouldn’t have lied my ass off. ‘Cause I like him too.” He opened one eye to see how his friends were reacting, but their expressions remained unchanged.

“We… kind of already knew,” Pidge said gently.

“Wait, what?” Lance sat up.

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “For a while we thought that you guys were sneaking off at lunch to go make out.”

“Is that why you kept looking at us funny?”

“Wait, you caught onto that?” Pidge asked.

“You’re not exactly subtle, Pidge.” Lance groaned, and covered his face with his hands. “This is so stupid. I like him, and it turns out he likes me, except now he probably won’t even want to talk to me. Like, he just bolted. Who does that?”

“Scared people,” Hunk said after a beat. “He’s probably even more freaked out right now than you are.”

“You should try to talk to him,” Pidge said. “What’ve you got to lose?”

Lance thought about it for a moment. “Nothing I haven’t lost already.”

#

Almost a week later, Lance found himself in the same spot: upstairs in the dressing room. He had already put on his makeup, and his features were sharp, his blue eyes made especially piercing by the eyeliner, meant to be noticed under the unforgiving spotlights.

Shiro poked his head into the dressing room. “All right, folks. Be backstage in five, because we’re starting this dress rehearsal.” Shiro may have looked tired, but he sounded as excited as Lance wished he felt. The show opened tomorrow. This was everything Lance had been working toward for weeks and weeks. He felt hollow, though, empty and robotic, as he stripped out of his normal clothes and stepped into his costume.

As per his friends’ advice, Lance had tried to talk to Keith. But Keith hadn’t spoken to him since they had been in the dressing room alone; he had made sure to be everywhere Lance _wasn’t_ , ignoring his calls and texts, and leaving him with a writhing snake’s nest of feelings. Now, he was sitting on the other side of the dressing room, as far away from Lance as possible, facing the back wall as Allura did his makeup. Lance couldn’t help but look at Keith for a second. Only a second, though. It started to hurt after longer.

Lance finished tying his shiny wingtip shoes, then went to look at himself in the full-length mirror that was affixed to the wall. The pin-striped suit might have been a little tacky, with its bright blue shirt and starkly contrasting orange tie, but Lance had to admit, it was _fun_ and very Nathan. He adjusted his black fedora, looked himself up and down in the mirror once more, then headed down the stairs.

Backstage, it was dark, and most of the cast was milling around anxiously. _Treat dress rehearsal like it’s a real show,_ Shiro had told them. Evidently, the cast was taking his instructions to heart. The air was fraught with nervous excitement and anticipation.

Once Lance’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, though, a familiar feeling took root, one that he couldn’t quite describe except to say that _god,_ he loved this, all of this. The strange, dark world backstage; the butterflies that took up residence in his stomach; walking out under the hot lights and putting on a beautiful facade; making the audience laugh; captivating an entire room with his voice. It was something he had never quite felt anywhere else, but it was a feeling he knew, recognizable and right as rain.

Maybe _calling_ was the word Lance was looking for.

_Belonging._

_Love._

“Pidge and I are having technical difficulties,” Shiro said once the entire cast was backstage, ready and in costume. “We should have it fixed in twenty minutes or so. When the overture starts to play, go ahead and start the show as usual.” A warm smile crossed his face. “Break a leg, everybody. And Keith, don’t forget: tonight’s the night!” Lance glanced around, and when his eyes landed on Keith, he realized that Keith looked resigned, pale, almost sick.

Shiro left, returning to the tech booth, and chatter bloomed backstage, interspersed with the occasional _shh!_ from Allura or Matt.

Lance waited in the wings, shifting back and forth on his feet, looking around aimlessly, until he spotted Keith, who had wandered off after Shiro left. He was slumped against the opposite wall, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Twenty minutes. That would be enough time. Lance felt himself walking around to the wings on the other side. He missed Keith; missed his dry sense of humour and his warm smile. He missed their talks.

“Hey.” He slid down next to Keith, who stiffened noticeably, but stayed put. “You excited?”

Keith shrugged noncommittally, almost imperceptibly. He seemed to shrink smaller into himself.

“Are you okay?”

Keith drew in a breath. “No.” He laughed, but there was no mirth behind it. “I’m kind of freaking out.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Lance asked.

“I’m surprised that you still want to talk to me at all, after what I pulled last week.” Keith kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke, carefully avoiding Lance’s gaze the way one avoids looking directly at the sun—because it’s dangerous and it hurts.

“What, because you ran?”

“And… the other stuff.” So much was loaded into those three little words. They both knew it, but neither mentioned it.

Keith sighed, and finally looked at Lance. “I guess I’m just scared. ‘Cause this is happening, y’know? It’s not just some theoretical thing that we practice for fun. There’s gonna be people watching tomorrow, and—” He stopped, and the darkness seemed to drink in the silence and elongate it. “And I guess I’m a little sad, too.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause at practice I always chicken out, and… You’ve seen it.”

Lance looked at Keith quizzically. “Seen what?”

“Me. And Allura. Not kissing,” Keith said, as if stating the obvious. “Sky and Sarah are supposed to kiss, except… we’ve never done it at practice. And Shiro says that we need to do the kiss tonight, which I understand, because the show is tomorrow, but…” When Keith spoke again, he was much quieter. “I guess I’m just sad because that wasn’t how I was picturing it. I didn’t want my first kiss to be staged.”

Lance’s voice was low and quiet, scared that anything more would shatter the delicate moment.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Keith turned from staring straight ahead, and faced Lance. “What?”

“Can I…” Lance trailed off, then summoned his courage and tried again. “Can I kiss you?”

Keith’s pupils were huge, from both the darkness and disbelief. “I thought… you didn’t like me like that.”

Lance laughed softly, and shrugged. “I thought you were straight.”

For the first time that night, Keith was smiling, hopeful. It was small, just a slight upturn of his lips. “So… you’re not mad, then?”

Lance shook his head. “I mean, it was a little jarring when you ran away, but I’m not mad. And you never answered my question.” He glanced at Keith’s lips for a split second, then back up at his violet eyes. “Can I?”

Keith didn’t say anything for a moment.

And then he was kissing Lance with inexperienced bravado, their foreheads and noses bumping together.

It was so _warm_. That was the first thing Lance noticed. In the darkness, without much visibility, it seemed that all his other senses were heightened; he felt more acutely aware of everything, like the warm puffs of Keith’s breath ghosting over his face. Lance scooted closer to Keith, resting his hand against Keith’s face, feeling Keith hesitate for a second before melting into the touch. He slid his hand up higher, tangling his fingers in Keith’s messy black hair, tilting his head to the side so that their noses weren’t smushed together anymore.

_Holy shit this is happening._

It felt like Lance’s insides had been replaced by electric coils—getting hotter by the second, sending warmth through his entire body, glowing bright bright _bright_.

The sounds of the theatre around them—the chatter of voices, the shuffling of shoes—all seemed quieter, as if muted by all the other sensations that were bombarding Lance: the way Keith smelled, sweet and faintly like hairspray; how Keith’s lips were pillowy soft, but a little bit chapped, sticking slightly to Lance’s own; Keith’s quiet sigh reverberating against his lips and traveling like an electric shock through his bones.

Music swelled, just like in the movies. Lance was about to deepen the kiss when Keith pulled away.

“Did… I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… The show’s starting.” Keith pointed to the stage, where actors were flitting across the stage in the opening scene of the show. (So it wasn't a movie kiss that was backed by a symphony: it was just the overture playing on the sound system.) Then, he looked at Lance, his pale skin still flushed pink. “I, uh. This.” He gestured between them. “I’d like to do it again. Kiss you, I mean.”

“Me too.” Awkwardly, Lance put a hand on the back of his neck, shy all of a sudden. “So are you gonna be okay tonight? With the Sky and Sarah thing?”

“Yeah.” Keith sounded calmer. “I think so.”

“That’s good.” Then, Lance said quietly, “I should go. My cue is soon.”

They both stood up, and Lance was about to go, when Keith grabbed his wrist. “Wait. One more thing.”

“Okay. What is i—”

Keith leaned in, and kissed Lance on the cheek. “Good luck.” The words hung near Lance’s ear, warm and breathy, as Keith walked away to his place in the wings.  

Lance watched him go, his face still on fire in the best possible way. He stood there, still a little wonderstruck, smiling into the darkness like a fool, and brushed his fingertips over his cheekbone, still warm where Keith had kissed him.

Then, he tiptoed to his position backstage. Even though this was just dress rehearsal, it still felt so real, like there could be people filling out the chairs in the audience. Everything had come together. Tomorrow night, it would come to fruition.

The music changed. Lance waited for his cue.

Deep breath.

Get in character.

_Showtime._


	8. finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so since i'm leaving on vacation tomorrow and i didn't want to make you folks wait 3 weeks for the next update, here it is! ahhhhh i can't believe it's finished!!! this fic has been such a blast, and i hope that you've had as much fun reading it as i had writing it ^_^

“All right, everybody,” Shiro said. “Bring it in.”

It was opening night, with less than twenty minutes until the theatre would open its doors to the public. The cast and crew, plus Shiro and Mr. Coran, were standing onstage in a large circle. In some ways, it felt like the practices that everyone was used to, with all the lights on and the set moved into its initial position, but it also felt very distinctly different. Everyone was in full costume and makeup, consumed by nerves and jitters, and Keith was no exception. 

“First off, I just want to say how proud I am of each and every one of you,” Shiro said. “I knew from the beginning that this was a dedicated, enthusiastic, passionate group of people who were capable of putting on a fantastic show.” Shiro paused, looking around at the group with a warm smile on his face. “And during last night’s dress rehearsal, you proved me right in every possible way. So tonight, when you’re onstage, give it your all. But more than that, if you do nothing else, have fun.” By now, Shiro was beaming with happiness and pride, as was Mr. Coran. 

“Let’s not forget our student director, who has done a phenomenal job directing his first show,” Mr. Coran said, gesturing to Shiro. 

The room burst out into whoops and applause, and Keith noticed that Lance, Shay, Matt, and Allura slipped offstage, only to emerge with a bouquet of colourful flowers. 

“These are for you,” Lance said, handing the flowers to Shiro, “from all of us. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

The applause started up again, with people nodding in agreement. 

“Thank you,” Shiro said quietly. “All of you. Directing this show has been my pleasure.” He tucked the bouquet under one arm so it wouldn’t fall, then reached his free hand into the centre of the circle. “On three. We got this.” Keith huddled in close with everyone else, extending his hand toward the point in the middle. “One, two, three—”

“WE GOT THIS!”

“All right,” Shiro said. “Doors open in ten minutes. Allura, could you lead a quick vocal warm-up?”

Allura nodded. “We’ll just do a few arpeggios.” She started singing, syllables rather than words, finishing on the same note she started on, then moving the pitch up a half-step after each arpeggio. The whole cast joined in, stopping when they reached notes that were too high for anyone to sing. She led the group through a few more warm-ups, and with each one, Keith became more aware of the anxiety blooming in the pit of his stomach. If he had felt nervous about the previous day’s dress rehearsal, that was nothing compared to how he was feeling right now, like he might melt into a puddle or explode into a million pieces. 

The warm-up finished all too soon, and Shiro informed everyone that the doors were going to open. 

Pidge caught Keith as he was going backstage. “Good luck, man. You’re gonna be great.” They smiled encouragingly, then walked up to the tech booth. 

Keith found himself wandering backstage, pacing the same twenty-foot stretch over and over, waiting for the show to start. Although he could hear people coming into the theatre and finding their seats, there were still thirty minutes until the show would actually begin. Thirty agonizing minutes. 

He spotted Lance, who was practicing dance steps from a multitude of musical numbers, not doing them in any particular order. Keith hung back, watching him. Lance’s movements were easy and natural, like he had been born dancing. At first, Keith had been jealous of Lance’s ability. After weeks and weeks of practice, the steps had become second nature to Keith, too, committed firmly in his muscle memory. But there was something mesmerizing about watching Lance dance, something that made it impossible to look away. 

Lance looked up from dancing. When he saw Keith, his face burst into a lopsided smile. “Hey! You ready for this?”

“Not really,” Keith said. “But it’s just like last night, right?” 

“Exactly.” Then, “How was it last night? Kissing Allura? I didn’t really get to talk to you after it ended, so…”

Keith shrugged. “It was okay. A little weird, but I expected as much.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty standard for stage kisses.” Lance shifted on his feet, then looked up at Keith, blurting, “Have I ever told you you look good in a suit?”

“Um, no?” Keith laughed, a blush rising in his cheeks. 

“Oh. Well, you look good in a suit,” Lance said, then smiled mischievously. “I guess you could say it  _ suits _ you—”

“Oh my god,  _ stop, _ you’re such a nerd.” Keith playfully bumped Lance with his shoulder, but it turned into more of a one-armed hug than a push when Lance wrapped an arm around him. 

“Yeah, but you like it.” 

They stood there, enveloped in a warm, rosy quiet. 

“Are you nervous?” Keith asked softly. 

“Right now I am,” Lance said. “But when I get out there I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what’s going on with you, too. ‘Cause you know what you’re doing. This, the waiting beforehand, that’s the worst part.” 

“I hope so.” Keith exhaled. “It feels different, now that I know there are people watching, but I should be okay.”

“You’re gonna be more than okay.” Lance turned to face Keith, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I should get in position, but… Can I?” Keith nodded, and when Lance swooped in to kiss him on the cheek, warmth flooded through his entire body. Not like an inferno, raging hot and fast and threatening to burn him up, but like the glowing embers of a campfire late at night. “Break a leg, Keith. You’re gonna be amazing.”

Lance left, looking over his shoulder and winking exaggeratedly, grinning as he went. 

And Keith? Keith was flying,  _ soaring, _ and when he got onstage, his nerves melted into rocket fuel, shooting him over and above and through the atmosphere, until he was sailing through the stars, being carried higher and higher by every note. 

So  _ this _ was the feeling that Lance always talked about. 

Lance was right. It was so,  _ so _ worth it.

#

Closing night came and went, all too soon. The show was over, the audience was filtering out of the theatre, and the cast was milling around backstage, waiting for their friends and family. 

Keith was pressed up into a corner, his shoulder blades against the wall, his body parallel with Lance’s, chest to chest. They were shrouded in darkness, somehow separate from the world as he kissed Lance long and slow and deep, his hands tangled in Lance’s hair, his breath hitching when Lance’s fingers crept under the hem of his untucked shirt. In that moment, everything that wasn’t him and wasn’t Lance was melting away, completely lost on Keith as Lance’s fingertips ghosted up his sides, making him shiver. 

Lance broke away, his face flushed, his hands still under Keith’s shirt. “This okay?”

Keith nodded, and kissed him back harder, his fingers tightening in Lance’s hair, tugging him closer, his insides liquefying when Lance let out a soft  _ mmph _ against his mouth. 

Lance, Keith realized, kissed the way he did everything else: completely, enthusiastically, throwing his whole self into it. He showered Keith with his full attention, and Keith was there to meet him halfway, giving it right back. 

This wasn’t what Keith expected his school year to be like—he never expected to be in a play, or to be kissing this beautiful boy, tucked into a corner next to a costume rack—it was unexpected, but somehow just right, and—

“Hey, nerds! Are you guys coming to the after-party, or—” At the sound of Pidge’s voice, they jolted apart. Keith’s hands were frozen on Lance’s shoulders, and Lance’s were still under the bunched fabric of Keith’s shirt, wrapped around his waist. Both of them stared at Pidge, who stared right back, the dim lamplight reflecting off their glasses. “Oh. Uh, you guys look busy. Come out to the lobby when you’re done.” Pidge turned on their heel and walked away, opening the door into the hallway and letting in a stream of light. 

“Did they say something about an after-party?” Keith asked, disentangling himself from Lance and brushing the hair out of his eyes. 

“Knew I was forgetting something,” Lance said. “Yeah, there’s a cast party tonight. At my house. You should come.” He smiled, and there was something endearing about his rosy cheeks and mussed-up hair. “If it sweetens the deal, there’ll be pizza.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Keith tapped his chin, pretending to think it over. “How badly do I want pizza?”

“Wow, rude.”

“Of course I’m coming,” Keith said. “But we should probably get changed first.”

“Oh yeah.” Lance looked down at his clothes—the ridiculous, flashy Nathan suit—like he had forgotten all about them, then started up the stairs to the dressing room. He poked his head around the corner. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, yeah?”

Keith nodded. “Sure.” After Lance had left, he quickly stripped out of his costume, then pulled on his regular clothes and went out to the lobby. 

The lobby was emptier than Keith expected it to be. Most people who had come to see the show had long since left. However, Keith immediately spotted the cluster of people in the centre of the room: Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, Allura, Matt, Shay, his foster parents, and some people who Keith guessed were Lance’s parents. 

“Keith!” Hunk called. “You were great!” Before Keith could process anything, Hunk was pulling him into a hug. It was nice, and Keith hugged him back once he got over his initial surprise. 

“Thanks, man.” Keith grinned. No sooner than he let go of Hunk, Pidge raced up to him and hugged him even tighter. They were much stronger than their small frame suggested. 

“I can’t believe you and Lance finally got your shit together,” Pidge said. “And the show was pretty cool, too. The sound booth has some of the best seats in the house.”

“Yeah? Thanks, Pidge—” Just as quickly as they had swooped in, Pidge let Keith go, and dashed over to the door, from which Lance had just emerged. Hunk followed suit, and within seconds, Lance was enveloped by the excited chatter of his friends, all of them laughing and grinning, still exhilarated from the show. 

Keith felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, and his foster mom was there, smiling proudly. “You did really well tonight, Keith.” 

“Thanks.” Keith said. “I’m glad you came to see it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

And then Keith remembered. 

“And thank you for getting me to try out for the show,” Keith said. “If you hadn’t suggested it, I probably never would’ve tried out, and then I would have missed out on all of this…” He looked over at his friends, still hugging and play-wrestling, ecstatic and overjoyed. “So I’m really glad that things worked out the way they did.” 

“Me too,” she said. “That was quite a show.” She smiled at Keith, gentle and sincere. “Now go. Be with your friends. I hear that there’s a party tonight.”

“Yeah, about that… Can I go?”

She nodded. “Of course. Just be sensible. Call me when it’s done if you need a ride.” She took her husband’s hand, and the two of them exited the lobby, leaving only a group of excited teenagers and Lance’s parents. 

Keith stood to the side, near the wall, and watched as Lance’s mother managed to wrangle him away from his friends and wrap him in an embrace. They were quite the pair—tall, skinny Lance, and his petite, round mother, who was beaming with pride. She ruffled Lance’s hair, and Lance acted like he was embarrassed, but Keith could tell that Lance loved it—loved  _ her. _ Lance’s father hugged him, too, mumbling something like  _ proud of you, kid  _ into Lance’s shoulder. It was a subdued, quiet happiness, maybe a little fragile. 

But then Lance broke away, and all his previous exuberant joy returned. “Well, this has been fun, but we have a party to get to.” He turned to his parents. “Can my friends ride with me?”

Lance’s mother and father exchanged a look, then his mother spoke up. “I don’t see why not.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking when Lance pulled his car keys out of his pocket and started for the door. 

Pidge zoomed past Lance, yelling, “I call shotgun!”

That got Hunk’s attention, and he followed after them. “How is that fair? You have the shortest legs out of anybody, and you had shotgun last time!”

Lance was stopped by the door, looking at Keith, smiling playfully. “C’mon, slowpoke. We’ve got places to be.” When Keith crossed the room and caught up, Lance slung an arm around his shoulders, and they walked out into the parking lot, where Hunk and Pidge were arguing over who got the front seat. It was a little awkward to walk with Lance’s arm around him, but decidedly nice. 

Pidge ended up in the passenger seat, making smug faces at Keith and Hunk in the rearview mirror, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone. Hunk didn’t seem upset at having to sit in the cramped backseat, though, since he was talking and laughing along with them as usual. 

It was a good thing indeed that Keith’s foster mom suggested he try out for the musical—the show had been fun. But there was something beyond that, something more than that. Maybe it was that, in the backseat of a minivan named Carol, Keith had finally found his people. 

#

Lance’s house was just like Lance himself—cheerful and full of life. Brightly coloured streamers and balloons were hung throughout the kitchen. On the counters, there were several large pizzas and bottles of soda. 

“No alcohol,” Lance’s mother warned. And then, her face softening, “Have fun.” 

A few minutes later, Shiro and Allura arrived, as well as Matt, Shay, and the rest of the cast. The party migrated to Lance’s basement, where people lounged on couches and the floor. Someone (probably Pidge) had started blasting Never Gonna Give You Up on their phone. 

Keith hung out in the basement for awhile, chatting with his friends from the show. Everyone was still high on life, giddy with what they had collectively accomplished. He got roped into several games of Mario Kart by Pidge, and actually beat them once, which was met by thunderous applause from Hunk and Lance. 

As the evening wound down, around ten-thirty, Keith ended up chatting on the couch with Shiro and Allura. 

“So is there gonna be a show next semester?” Keith asked. 

“Hopefully,” Shiro said. “Mr. Coran’s thinking about doing either Grease or West Side Story. But I think I’ve had my fill of directing for now.” Shiro laughed and leaned his head back. “These past couple months have been fun, but god  _ damn  _ am I tired.” 

Allura smiled fondly at Shiro. “Take a break. You deserve it.” 

“So do you,” Shiro said. “You were amazing tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Allura’s tone was playful. 

“And last night and the night before that,” Shiro amended. Shiro did look tired, Keith noted, but his eyes were sparkling with happiness. 

They were interrupted by Pidge, who bounced up to Keith with the energy of someone who consumed  _ way _ too much sugar. “Keith! You should come play truth or dare!”

“Sorry, Pidge,” Keith said. “I value my dignity too much.” He had heard stories of playing truth or dare when Pidge was involved, and he had no plans to experience it firsthand. At least, not tonight. 

“Whatever,” Pidge said. Keith watched them walk across the room and try to persuade Matt and Shay to play truth or dare. Keith couldn’t help but snicker as the scene unfolded. Matt obviously knew what his sibling was capable of, and tried to tell Shay that it was a bad idea, but Shay was having none of it, and agreed that both of them would play. 

Keith was so distracted that the voice beside him took him by surprise. 

“Hey, so, um, the stars are out.” 

He looked up, and saw Lance standing beside the couch, with something green draped over his shoulder. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lance said. “I thought you might want to get out of here before Pidge destroys the entire universe with truth or dare, and the stars are really pretty tonight, and… Yeah.” A blush crept onto Lance’s face. 

Keith stood up, smiling softly at Lance. “I’d like that.”

They walked up the stairs together, shoulder to shoulder, and slipped on their shoes in the back porch. 

“And I brought this for you,” Lance said, holding out the army green lump of fabric. “‘Cause it’s kind of cold outside, and you didn’t bring a coat.”

Keith unfurled the bundle of fabric, and saw that it was a jacket made out of heavy canvas, dark green with orange bands on the sleeves. Keith put it on. It was too big for him, but that just made it cozier: the sleeves were too long, and the jacket came to his mid-thigh. It smelled like cinnamon, like Lance. It was perfect. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Lance opened the screen door, and they stepped into the cool night air. 

The sun had gone down, but it wasn’t pitch dark yet. Keith looked around. He could discern the outlines of things in the purplish night, like a garden shed and a clothesline and a trampoline, but couldn’t tell much else. Warm light emanated from the windows of the house, and through the glass Keith could see Lance’s parents talking in the kitchen. The backyard was like another world, mysterious and entirely new, one that Keith had never seen in daylight. 

Keith felt Lance’s fingers intertwine with his own, and he smiled, nervous and happy. This still didn’t feel entirely real. 

“Let’s go over there,” Lance said, pointing to the trampoline with his free hand, pulling Keith in its direction. “We just have to take our shoes off first.” Lance kicked off his sneakers and climbed up onto the trampoline. Keith followed suit, leaving his shoes on the grass, and felt the cool breeze whistle through the fabric of his socks, tickling his feet. 

The trampoline creaked and groaned slightly under their weight. Keith hadn’t been on one in years. He had forgotten how weird it felt at first, like being on the moon, only distinctly  _ not, _ because gravity was always there to pull him back down. Keith giggled and jumped a little. Lance started jumping too, and they built up a momentum. The air around them was silent, save for laughter and the squeaking of springs. 

Eventually, Lance stopped bouncing and laid down on his back, looking fondly up at the sky. “Me and my brother used to come out here a lot when we were younger,” he said, “to look at the stars. Especially during summer, when Mama let us stay up late.”

“Used to?” Keith laid down next to Lance, lacing their fingers together once again. 

“Yeah. Not so much anymore.” Keith waited for Lance to elaborate, to fill the silence with an explanation, but Lance only said, “That’s a story for another time.” 

“So there’ll be another time?” Keith turned his head and looked at Lance, their faces only inches apart. 

“Yeah,” Lance whispered. “If you want there to be.” His eyes were as big as saucers, pupils blown wide in the darkness, looking at Keith with the softest expression on his face. 

Keith’s voice was more breath than solid words. “I think I want that.” 

And then they were kissing again. Keith wrapped his arms around Lance’s back as Lance rolled on top of him, a beacon of warmth in the chilly night. It was slower than earlier, lacking the fervor that had been present backstage, both of them taking their time, exploring, hands skimming silhouettes through clothes. Lance planted soft kisses on Keith’s neck before returning to his lips, tangling his fingers in Keith’s hair. 

Keith let himself melt into it, until he wasn’t sure where he ended and Lance began. 

They broke apart a few minutes later, smiling, goofy and breathless. Lance flopped onto his back, and Keith curled up close next to him, trying to absorb some of his body heat, grateful for the borrowed jacket. 

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” Lance asked, looking up at the sky full of stars. 

“What, like aliens?” 

Lance nodded against Keith’s shoulder. “Yeah. I used to think that I was born in the wrong time, y’know? Like, if I had been born earlier, I might have gone to the moon, or if I had been born centuries later, I could travel the galaxy and meet aliens, and it would be like something out of a sci-fi novel. But now I’m not so sure.” Lance paused. “I think I’d miss Earth too much. So maybe things happen the way they’re supposed to.” 

The bassline of a song came from the basement, permeating the quiet night as Keith looked up at the stars. The sheer distance gave the illusion that they were twinkling fairy lights rather than the ferocious infernos they actually were. Keith took it all in, each individual far-away sun, possibly dead, possibly flanked by planets of their own, teeming with life. 

And Keith thanked the stars, for the simple fact that he had been born not earlier or later or someplace far away, but into the here and now—that he had finally found a place he belonged. 

Keith snuggled in closer to Lance, and felt a warm arm wrap around him, felt a light kiss on the crown of his head. 

_ Maybe things happen the way they’re supposed to.  _

“Maybe they do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's read this, and to TotallynotFanfics: thankyouthankyouthankyou for all your support and encouragement with this fic. can't wait for all the fangirling that lies ahead :)
> 
> well, that's all for now. see you soon!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you liked it! Comments and suggestions would be much appreciated :)
> 
> Also, a big thank-you to my friend for being a great beta reader! You can find her here on ao3 at TotallynotFanfics.


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